By Sydney Sinks
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“Please be aware of content warnings for homophobic slurs, mention of a homophobic hate crime, allusions to (consensual but unhappy) sex, and mentions of current political issues.” – Sydney Sinks
Use of the word dyke
“Silence Chokes Like Florida Saltwater”
For Governor Ron DeSantis
don’t say dyke in Florida.
remember to whisper your kisses half-asleep
so no one can hear you; remember
the hot-teared shame of being a child and needing
a bandaid for a scraped knee,
or holding her hand at the convenience store.
dyke doesn’t taste right when mixed with your long hair and mascara.
you don’t hate femininity;
you love and make love to it.
dyke is not-yours.
it belongs to the mothers and sisters and butches who had it hurled
like rocks at their backs
and hurled rocks back,
people stronger than you, detached from you, like the two local men
burned to death in their own suburbia two-story,
which you read about in the newspaper you steal from your neighbor’s porch.
this tragedy is not-yours, though you cry like it is.
you aren’t comfortable with your anger. you don’t know how to feel it.
on Halloween you invite a boy to pin you against the wall,
his drunk gentle hands meant to prove you wrong
and erase the word from your vodka-numb lips,
dyke ringing in your ears as your dress rides up your thighs
like a river flowing backwards
cupped in the wrong person’s palms.
you learn not to say dyke in Florida or at home
and only sometimes in your bedroom.
more often, say sorry, like to the boy the next morning
or to your mother when you admit it.
but then.
yes, there is a glorious then—a future you have given yourself.
your life starts to fit like your favorite sweater.
and you say all the words you aren’t supposed to, like
fuck this,
and cut your bangs in the bathroom mirror;
kiss girls, often and shamelessly, over the gear shift of your car;
read.
decide not to die like this
and not to live half-dead,
but to become.
no more apologies or swallowed words.
not today, not in any state, not your generation.
you will not choke on silence.
Sydney Sinks (she/her) is a writer who wears ugly sweaters and weird earrings. She enjoys drinking too much coffee and then writing poems when she can’t sleep because of the coffee. Her work is published in Remington Review, Bacopa Literary Review, The Dawn Review, and others. Follow her on Twitter @SinksSydney for ramblings and the occasional sonnet.
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