Today was the EqualiTea event on my campus. It was basically a celebration of women/our women’s center, and they had a few people read their submissions from GVSU’s “In our own words: A Journal About Women.” My poem is the first piece in the journal, and ironically I was the last to speak. As I sat there listening to every other women read their amazingly well-written pieces, I realized that they all had such passion and seemed to warm the room with well-placed bits of humor. Well, my piece is passionate, but there’s nothing to laugh at. Nothing to make it more palatable.
I was shaking, which is odd since public speaking is usually no problem for me. Something about the nature of what I was going to say sunk the fear into my chest like a bullet. I weaved my way to the podium as my name was called. Apparently I was supposed to say something about my piece, so I briefly said something about frustration and the trials of falling under the “other” category. Before I read it, I realized that I was about to come out to over one hundred people. Not only come out, but address biphobia without apology. It was incredibly hard, knowing that talking about any sort of issue regarding being bi is usually met with strong, stubborn apathy.
Resisting the way my speech tried to quicken, I started to read. My nerves kept telling me to hurry, and in defiance I deliberately let my words roll deep, pausing on the swells. I managed to avoid stumbling, though the pitch of my voice seems slightly off to my own ears. At the end of the first page, I heard the soft crackle of everyone turning to the back side. And for a moment, I feel a strange sense of connection with everyone in the room. No matter what they think, they were listening to me. My peers and professors, holding my words in front of them, words they most likely haven’t heard before strung together in this particular context. And suddenly, I was kinda proud. Still scared shitless, but proud.
As I walked back to my seat with decent applause, an older lady gives me a warm smile that thaws the chill that fear had placed upon me. Even if everyone else viewed me negatively, this one woman with kind, knowing eyes, cemented my courage into a statue. On the small brass plaque it reads “your feelings are valid.”
Every line in this poem has some meaning, some purpose. It doesn’t have the most sophisticated rhymes or clever writing, but it manages. Frankly, that’s how it feels to deal with biphobia and general shit. I manage. And yes, sometimes it really fucking hurts. If anyone find this too dramatic or depressing, I think that’s rather telling of why biphobia/bi erasure is an issue. Bisexuality isn’t a bummer—I like who I am. However, hate, judgement, isolation, objectification, and being mistreated because of my sexual orientation? That’s a bummer, and dammit, I’m going to talk about it.
So without further ado, here it is. For obvious reasons, I’m omitting my last name. It appears as it does in the journal—same formatting, and with the author’s note.
I hope you like it.
“Voices Erased”
Sara [Pointyteeth]
A dichotomy’s battle has been waging
But neither side wants me to be seen
So I walk oh so carefully, so painfully
On the barbed wire placed in-between
But both armies find common ground
Through this outsider they cannot ignore
Quickly they target my lone silhouette
I am not the first to be a casualty of war
Their weapons fire, words hitting soft skin:
You’re not like us, you’re just like them
Go back to your kind, quiet now
You’re destined to live a life condemned
You stupidly asked for attention
Insensitive, when your troubles are so small
So don’t protest too loudly
Actually, don’t complain at all
Besides, what’s the point in being honest?
Can’t you just pick one or the other,
Claim a more acceptable identity
Based on the sex of your lover?
How greedy of you, making us pay attention
We alone posses the power to police, to command
You are existing in territories banned and unfamiliar
And we don’t tolerate what we won’t understand
So we’ll leave you alive, but listen close
A nauseous feeling settles in, my fate known
Don’t bother trying to tell the truth.
No one will believe you; you are utterly alone.
Authors Note: This poem started off as response to the negative attitudes towards bisexuality in particular, but it grew to include anyone who doesn’t fit under the acceptable amount of “different.” It often seems as if there’s a war between only the “straight” and “gay” communities, and anyone who does not belong to either group has to struggle to be visible and validated. This piece is reflective of my struggles as a bi woman, but I hope that others are able to understand and identify with what I’ve written.
