By Olive Greene
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references to homophobia
All those times in my car or in someone else’s car. Kissing across the threshold of a driver’s side window, or against the passenger door. How I said I love you and she had no shoes on, how before we knew each other we had been alone on the same river but at different times, the girls I glitched through as I shaved my head or grew out my bangs, girls with black lipstick, being thirteen and then being eighteen, saying things like not that it will ever get this far but we could never have children and we would still be beautiful, saying things like your mother will never like my smile like she liked that boy’s smile as he snuck in through your window. All the drinks, holding white lighters behind the bowling alley and knowing we’d never be in love but at least we were young and queer and trying. I’ve never been afraid of girllove. I’ve never been good at keeping my mouth shut. Meeting girls at parties and at emo concerts, at debate club, falling in love with girls I hated in elementary school because I believed in magic and they did not, loving girls that scared me, loving girls that were scared, sleeping in boxers, saying goodbye, how it was true to be quiet in small spaces and in the dark, all those times in cars, going home.
Olive Greene is a poet from Austin, Texas who’s currently studying at St. John’s College in Santa Fe, New Mexico. She loves the world and writing about it.
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