They always see a Black man first.
Everything else gets erased
even though it’s still very much there.
When you pass,
your queerness becomes invisible.
People only see the color of my skin.
Black first.
Man next.
Nothing else.
There’s a constant hyper-vigilance now.
Forever aware of how I’m being read
in public,
in queer spaces,
in social situations.
Not because I want to be,
but because I have to be.
Black men don’t get the benefit of ambiguity.
You’re not allowed to just be
you’re read,
assessed,
braced against.
Losing those connections to the lesbian/sapphic community
is so hard.
I never stopped being deeply sapphic-coded,
but it’s hard to feel like I’m allowed to name that
or take up space in those rooms anymore.
A lot of queer spaces in the PNW are very white
and very centered on “lesbian/dyke/sapphic” language.
Dating and making friends is harder now.
Black men are historically and societally framed
as aggressive
or threatening.
Even people who aren’t consciously racist
still carry that conditioning.
I’m already constantly doing mental gymnastics
to make myself smaller,
softer,
safer,
even though I know
I didn’t create these systems.
But I’m still here.
Still sapphic.
Still queer.
Still trans.
Still taking up space
even when you can’t see me.
