GAY

I AM GAY

I AM A LESBIAN 

LESBO 

DYKE

QUEER 

I ENJOY BOOBS AND VAGINA

I AM NOT A CHALLENGE

I AM NOT TRYING TO GET ATTENTION

I AM TRYING TO LIVE IN MY LIFE IN A JUDGEMENTAL SOCIETY THAT SHOULD NOT REVOLVE AROUND YOUR DICK

I AM A WOMAN

WHO LIKES WOMEN

AND WILL NEVER LIKE YOU OR YOUR SHRUNK UP DONG

SO GET AWAY FROM ME AND LET ME LIVE IN PEACE WITH MY GAY THOUGHTS

Driving in the Night

I drove to Wal-Mart the other night to pick up a binder. At first, it was comforting to drive through the darkness. Very few street lights shined the roads and no cars passed me. There was no noise, just the soft sound of my radio and the wind outside. Driving there, I was comforted and relaxed in the solitude of the night.

I hurried in and back to my car, ready to leave the brightness of the town and the chatter of the people and go back down the silent road. There was no one in my lane in the parking lot. No one coming or going. So I pressed my foot on the gas peddle.

Harder.

And harder.

I was speeding in a parking lot, nearing almost thirty miles in just five seconds. It was too fast, but I didn't step on the breaks. My eyes locked with the end of the road, at the McDonald's in front of me. And I wondered as I sped up, what would happen if I didn't stop? What would happen if I just kept on driving...

I slammed on the breaks before I could hit the short road that would lead me to the main road. I realized what I was doing, what would have happened if I didn't stop.

Oh god. What was I doing? I thought.

I noticed some lights behind me and forced myself not to stop right there. I drove the short road, still connected to the parking lot. I went to the emptier side, the spot where mostly the workers and garage attendants were.

And then I tried again. Faster this time. No cars, longer road, a fence at the end that could stop me. Don't stop, I thought.

I stopped close to the curb. I couldn't do it. I was such a coward, but I'm fucking happy to be a coward. I don't want to be brave if bravery involves crashing.

I had to leave the darkness. No matter how comforting it was, it left me wanting to drive faster and see what would happen if I happened if I didn't stop. It left my palms sweaty and butterflies float in my stomach.

The night time has always left a subtle sense of fright that I found interesting. But at that moment, I didn't need the fear, I needed the comfort and the relaxed feeling I got while driving with the radio turned up loud.

I drove home quickly, not too fast, yet not too slow, avoiding all the cars around me and keeping a close eye on the speedometer.

I didn't enjoy the night time. I didn't enjoy driving.

I didn't enjoy anything on my ride home.

Now is not the time to allow those kinds of feelings back into my life.

Dreams

I dreamed about you last night. 

We were at school and in the journalism room. You were sick and sad and wanted to talk to me. So we stood in the ad room, talking about Attack on Titan and laughing. Everyone who was in the room suddenly disappeared and you looked at me sadly. Your nose was red and your voice was horse as you talked.

"Just because we aren't dating doesn't mean I can't kiss you." You said. And those words keep circling my mind, long after I woke up. I keep wondering, could that happen? 

And then you kissed me. I felt how warm and chapped your lips were. I didn't care about getting sick, it was just a dream anyways, and dream-you didn't seem to care either. My eyes were open during the kiss and I saw how stressed and worried you seemed to be with your eyes squeezed shut. 

I pulled away in shock, surprised at what you had done. I'm pretty sure the kiss was really just my dog licking my face, but that didn't matter. I woke up shocked that my feelings and thoughts were still there. At the same time, I was happy that I got to experience one last dream of you.

I have no idea why you were sick or why I had to dream about kissing you right then. Maybe the face that it was the night before Valentine's Day brought it up. Maybe my still-there feelings for you decided to show me that this could happen, if things were better. Maybe this is a farewell to my feelings for you. Maybe my brain just wanted to laugh at me for how I felt. 

Whatever the reason, it happened. I hope I don't see you today because I probably won't be able to say a word without blushing and stuttering. Maybe if I'm lucky, you'll run through the halls without even glancing at me. 

I hope you enjoy the candy gram I got you and hope you have a great Valentine's Day as well.

-- Amber

Good Girl

I've been a good girl.

I've held my tongue. I've avoiding saying anything that could sound even slightly flirtatious. I've avoided giving compliments and telling you you look nice even when you say you don't. I kept my word and stayed your friend, never trying to advance from that or hint that I'd like to.

I was upset that I became the girl you disappointed. I hate that that's what I'm referred to as. You never disappointed me. I was incredibly upset, but I was happy to return back to friendship. The feelings, I thought, would eventually fade away. I can do it.

I thought I was doing great. I thought I managed to push back the feelings. I've managed to talk to you without trouble and enjoyed talking to you about everything. I was doing great. Your occasional blog post where I was mentioned sometimes hurt. Sometimes they brought back the feeling I've been trying to hide. But I kept them down like a good girl should.

Then you made a joke about how you were going to break my heart. And I knew that it was a reference to my friend breaking my heart with a ship and that you were going to do it with another one. A part of me wanted to type "Again?" but I held back. I didn't want to ruin what we've managed. I didn't want to hurt you.

It wouldn't even be true. I'd be telling a lie if I said that. I wasn't in love with you and I wasn't heartbroken. Not really. I know what heartbroken feels like and that was not it. A broken heart shakes your whole body and makes everything hurt. Every step you make alone hurts and even thinking of a word they said at one point makes it hurt. It makes you not wanting to do anything except drink until the pain becomes numb. It's pain and it hurts like crazy and you just want to fix it but there's no way to do it. There is no special glue or tape that can fix up a broken heart. You can't think of anything that can fix it so you just cry and lay down and read through the last messages you sent to them.

I didn't go through that with you, my dear. I got drunk the night it happened. I had a video chat with my friend who disapproved of what I was doing. But to me, drinking was a much better than laying around and crying. I passed out in my bed and woke up on the other side. Then I avoided you. I went offline on Skype and refused to send you any messages.

And when school started up, I prayed you wouldn't come in during lunch because I couldn't deal with being in the same room as you just yet. But when you didn't, I held back from having an attack or crying in the middle of class. I ruined a friendship and that was horrible to me.

But we've made it. We've worked it up. Now you're my friend who I trust enough to tell about my favorite pair of underwear and my sexual experiences. I'm happy about this, you know. I'm happy to call you my friend.

Sometimes, I miss you. I wish I could call you my girlfriend and go to your classes and walk you to your bus and kiss you again. But I'm more okay with bumping into you in the hallway while you're leaving and sending you messages and pictures. I'm happy with friendship.

So I just wrote, "ok" and continued watching the show.

Yesterday, I realized I haven't logged into Skype on my phone in a long time. And when I did, I remembered why. The messages haven't loaded since December. We were still called each other cute and perfect and it made me so sad.

I deleted Skype from my phone.

Because I am a good girl. I leave the past in the past as I should. I ignore feelings and concentrate on other's rather than myself. For you, I would do anything you asked of me.

For as long as you want me to be, I will be your friend.

-- Amber

Untitlted

I've imagined how your moans would sound

And how your hair would look tangled and messy--

The slight sweat covering your body,

The gasps you might make,

The smile you would wear when you had finished--

How sad it is,

That I'll never be able to experience such a wonderful sight.

244 Days

On February 1st, right before I changed my calender, I stared at the number 244 written on January 31st. 244 Days. It seems almost unbelievable to me. Just a little over eight months ago, I was a sobbing mess with bleeding hips and a blank areas in my brain. When I wasn't crying, I was scratching until I broke the skin or wishing I was dead.

244 Days. The number is so unreal. I remember reaching 100 days and being happy I managed to do it. I had the strength and willpower to keep myself from doing anything dangerous to myself. There were moments I started to miss her and wished I could relieve the stress by opening my skin. But I held back and wrote my feelings out on paper instead. I drew on my skin with pens instead of knives and drove my car straight instead of sharply turning.

I wrote the numbers on my calender for every day I made it. I was asked often what they meant and I told lies. It's seeing how long I've been a vegetarian, or how many days there are in a year. So many lies, it's almost cruel of me.

244 Days. It took me over 244 days to stop missing her. I haven't marked the day off my calender since February started. I enjoy driving my car around the curves on the cliff. My X-Acto is used for only crafts. I'm smiling more. I'm planning. I'm working hard. I'm trying and I'm succeeding.

It took me over 244 Days to get to where I am. I'm still going to be confused as fuck and probably hate myself many times in the future. The horrible feelings will come back but I'll have experience and people around me to help me through it. I'll live. I'll make it through.

244 Days. That is the number I stop counting.

I turned my calender to February and marked out the first box. I didn't write a number. I turned my back and crawled into bed for a comfortable and relaxed night of sleep.

February is a new month. And I'm ready for whatever it throws at me.

-- Amber

Fluff Hurts

It seems so fucking pathetic to cry while reading fanfiction.

I don’t even cry over the sad fanfictions where the lovers are torn apart by an unfaithful accident or disease. Stories of my favorite character having their loved ones run off and their hearts broken can make me cry but not give me an unbelievably hard tug in my heart and cause me to sob uncontrollably.

It’s fluff fanfiction that makes me cry. The ones with young lovers stealing kisses and holding hands, picturing their futures together but being too shy to talk about them yet. 

The ones where they wake up early on cold mornings and cuddle next to their love. Where they play like children and kiss like hungry lovers. They draw on each other’s faces and jump on the bed at three in the morning. They make pancakes and noon and get flour everywhere. Where they ride the Ferris Wheel and kiss in front of the city, too high for anyone to see. The fanfictions where they go into town, run down the streets holding hands, in and out of shops looking for nothing because they already have all the would want. 

Those are the ones that make me cry.

Why should such happy and lovely fanfictions bring tears to my eyes? Why should they make a sniveling mess and sob into my pillow until my lungs ache and my throat is raw? Why do they leave me with such an empty feeling like my heart had just been pulled out?

Because I am a pathetic fool who gets jealous of fictional characters.

Maybe it’s not weird to get jealous over fictional characters. Everyone does it. They get the life we want, whether it’s full of adventure, money, or love. They get the happy endings we long for. Fictional characters have more fun than anyone could ever wish to have. The best part is everything ends on a good note for them while we keep on going and reach for another book and watch another show.

It’s probably not unusual to want the relationship two fictional characters have together. But crying over it and longing for it is something else. 

I don’t want to be in a relationship with those characters. I don’t have that big of a crush on one of them that I cry whenever I read about them with someone else. No, I just want what they have. 

I want someone to fall asleep next to and hold her all night and all morning. I want to make pancakes or waffles with her. I want to play in the snow with her, throwing snowballs at each other’s faces until we fell on the cold ground. I want to steal kisses from her in the middle of Burger King and leave hickies in places only she’ll be able to see. 

I want to text her at three in the morning and go to Denny’s in our pajamas because why the hell not. We’re young and crazy and in love. We’re planning our futures but have no idea where our lives are heading or what will happen tomorrow, let alone five years from now. 

I don’t just want a first love. I want someone who can make me feel loved and I can return the feeling to. I want to treat a girl like a princess and let her know I love her and care for her more than I have every cared for anyone. I want to cry into her shoulder and kiss her face and feel so lucky that I have someone so amazing in my life.

I want a relationship that feels like a first love even though it may not be. Where every kiss always feels like the first with the butterflies and the tingle that stays on your lips. I want one with promises that stick and hope that doesn’t fade. I want it to always feel young and crazy even when we’ve settled down and started doing taxes and looking for a dog. 

I want what fictional characters have. I want their relationship and they’re promises that always stay. So when I read fanfiction about two characters falling in love it makes my heart tug and wish for something like that. 

I may still sound reasonable. Although when I start crying over smutty fanfictions because the characters feel so loved and happy while they’re being pounded into, that’s when I really feel like I have a problem. 

-- Amber