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the proverbial closet

Writer's picture: thegaytedcthegaytedc

I never understood why they called it a closet, as if it were the place no one would ever think to look during a game of hide-and-go-seek between three 7-year-old 2nd graders; the ultimate hiding spot. “What’s it like in there?” Seems like a promising question from some random straight person who deems the interaction with a homo as a novelty experience; so interested to know the details of ‘gay life on the inside’ like it’s the end of a long-term prison sentence. But isn’t it?


We only get one life. Imagine taking the only one you have, putting it in the hands of an unconsidered stranger to pull you by the strings, giving them autonomous control to your thoughts, decisions, and actions. The stranger at the barbershop. The lady inside the ticket booth at the movie theater. The stranger in the public restroom. That guy standing behind you in line at Five Guys. The guy taking your order at Five Guys. It’s no different from being psychologically incarcerated.


By the same standard, it’s these unconsidered strangers who have a heavy hand in shaping and perpetuating the heteronormative belief that denounces the identity of any (and dare I say every) person who doesn’t identify as straight. And each day you give your life to them is a day you play Russian Roulette with yourself.


be you. fuck them. 🏳️‍🌈



-kp




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