I Am Stuck In A Glass Case

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*Tiny trigger warning for suicide. Mentioned literally once.

Disclaimer: There is a LOT of sarcasm utilized in this post. Please be sure to understand this device before you proceed. If you cannot handle extreme sarcasm, this is not the post for you. Keep in mind, also, that I am criticizing hateful, bigoted Christians as one. If you can’t handle that, this also is not the post for you. Would you like another post to read? Go to my directory, and choose something that fits your fancy! Thanks for stopping by.

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I have learned many things, many great things about being a lesbian.

Firstly, I have no feelings and if I do, they do not matter. I forget I’m not a human being, often. But Christians remind me. They are so, so helpful! There’s nothing better than a good, ol’ fashioned scripture spitting Christian. You know the ones. Nothing better than those. They tear you down in the name of Jesus, and then cite scripture afterwards. When I’m peacefully making a leaf with a rainbow background, then comes the casual, “We all know being gay is wrong, right?” After thoroughly offending me, they’ll cite scripture, and tell me I cannot be religious and queer at the same time. What pleasant news.  

I have been informed recently that I’m exotic. A person of color and queer, how strange! How rare! I am your butch lesbian toy being sold on the street in midtown Manhattan and Jamaica, Queens as you pass by. I apparently am quite fragile because I was sexually abused as a child—that’s the only way lesbians exist, after all, and I am necessary because I shop voluntarily from the “men’s” section, wear snap backs and do not wear makeup. Because of this, I am beautiful. Precious, like your Beverly Hills chihuahua. A prized possession to brag about so that one can come across as progressive.

Straight women seem to believe that the only way to show their acceptance is to hug excessively, kiss, and be super and suddenly flirtatious. This is how they show that my abnormality is okay in their eyes. It is how they show their support. They are pretty, I am gay, I must want to be touched and petted as if I am a show dog, like an exotic possession. It can not possibly upset me. Apparently, I must be attracted to every girl I befriend. I guess this must be why I don’t choose many, which is also interesting, since lesbians hate men!  (Come on, who doesn’t love black boys?!?! They’re SO MUCH FUN.) (And teen boys in general) (BUT BLACK PEOPLE THO)

I feel like an animal being prepared for dissection. I constantly feel discomfort and out of place and I have never cared about fitting in with this odious thing we call a society. I feel like I am considered yours to poke, prod, and examine. Yours to gaze at in awe and with such wonderment. Yours to question. Yours to touch, own, insult. Yours, period. I am your public property, with soda spills, odd growths, and pigeon feces because that’s how New York operates.

I am on a stage in this hollow life. A stage enclosed by a display case that I can only escape via suicide. I am dressed in feathers, and carnival makeup and every eye is on me and how different I am, everywhere I go, whether in interest or in disgust. I am not human. I am an attraction. Another possession to cherish until I have lost my appeal and it is time to throw me away, and I wish I didn’t have to live.

Live where I am an object on display, with an engaged audience rather than just another human being with different preferences, and who is worthy of and shouldn’t be denied love, kindness, respect, privacy and personal boundaries from anyone in existence.

I am not your precious chihuahua. Your beautiful slave to obey at your “smile, baby”s when you know not my name. I am not your toy. I am not your piece of cake at your birthday party. I am not a pet that needs to be comforted with your touch. I am human. It feels like no one realizes or believes that about me anymore, and it brings me nothing but sheer, unadulterated agony. And you. You are all the ugly things in this life that I will never be able to escape.

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