wicked & divine since 1899

i have a doctorate in inbetweenness
race, religion, creed and code – all this-and-that
haphazardly sorted in piles or left liminal floating
between us

i have a doctorate in misunderstandings
thirteen, sitting skinny-legged, with my first girlfriend
telling me she’d never date a straddler

she was shaking fists, rattling expletives because i lied.
there was a time when i couldn’t own this
persona of passing afflictions, contradictions, and 
time biding – never reaching the finish line

i have a doctorate in disagreements sitting oceanic
between confident continents
left, right, up and down. i have a doctorate in understanding
perspectives

perhaps it spins out of neglect in cultivating definitive 
conditions

i have lied a lot, actually – lied pervasively and convulsively
to cover up what is dear to me, what should be kept near to me
put on display

virginity is a construct that does not construct humanity.
take it away

virginity is a construct that does not leave room for straddlers.
i vanish in the purity

i have a doctorate in defense mechanisms
willful blindness to a world that wants to sell and scorn my body
my body is his to slap, hers to push, his to rape, hers to scold
my body is anything, it seems, but my body.

thirteen, i forgive you for lying
thirteen, you were tongue-tied.

i first heard the term ‘gold star lesbian’ in a room full of women
systematically deconstructed, re-arranged, 
victims of cultural taxidermy and suicide.

i first heard the term ‘gold star’ from the unlikely mouth
that mirrored monsters from spaces where i also 
wasn’t supposed to belong

so what does it leave me with, again?
my bisexuality – what does it gain for me?
thirteen, you severed it 
eighteen, you severed it
twenty three, i want to offer it an ultimatum

come in.
it’s warm-not-hot and we’re watching the news
just loud enough to hear there are wars of inbetweeness and
best start picking sides.
come in.

perhaps we don’t have culture because our culture is mimicry
come in.

to all the bisexual babies who feel it’s time to arm or die
come in.

there is a seat for you at my table.
we are making alphabet soup.
there is efficacy to my medicine.

women! women who i loved, women who i hated
learn from me. study under me. learn how to sew and recede
learn to take up space and convulse loudly and unapologetically 
learn how to be indefinite and 
abnormal

when i first heard the term ‘gold star lesbian’ 
i pictured a panel of judges peering over me
inspecting me for signs of maleness
dna from chance encounters, rapes, or flings – one in the same

no more! i will be no less.
i have a doctorate in love: loud, viral, and selfish
there will be no more showings on this stitched up body
i’ll take the bronze

i have a doctorate in inbetweenness
i have a doctorate in misunderstandings
i have a doctorate in disagreements 
i have a doctorate in defense mechanisms
i have a doctorate in love   

but i’ll never have a gold star