call me sinister
clumsy
seat me at the end of the table
watch me struggle with scissors,
smudge my name
on the office birthday card.
this backwards mosaic mirror tile
was never in question,
never concealed
but still
different
call me snowflake
bleeding-heart
tell me I should have
outgrown my convictions
or that I have already
abandoned them
i name injustice when I see it
i write modest checks to progressive causes
i show up for protests (when they fit my schedule)
does that make me a hypocrite
a limousine liberal in a beat up Prius
or just
frozen
call me confused
imposter
nobody trusts the closeted lesbian
the curious straight girl
tell me that if I am
happy in
heteromonogamy
I must erase the identity
so long ago I came to see
as part of me
no longer
relevant
call me crazy
a yo-yo
wound too tight
with the highs and lows
and the years spent in
a dysthymic limbo
longing for feelings
I worked desperately to avoid—
when they came back they caught me
off guard
but we’re
working things out.
so yes, I am a left-handed, leftist, bipolar bisexual who lives
with her husband
in a nice apartment
that they pay for with the fruits of capitalism
and who will sit in the middle of the table
where she can hear the goddamn conversation.
if everyone can just
mind their own elbows
it’ll
all
be
fine.