Queer is loving women
but fucking men
because they are easy.
Smile,
flirt,
sex.
Most men I’ve slept with
are sure they are doing me a grand favor,
thirty minutes later,
with little to no foreplay,
and falling short of providing an orgasm,
I am scrolling through my contacts
looking for a woman
to finish what a man started.
Queer is being forced to identify
with a label. Bisexual was never
my favorite. I go with
“lesbian-who-sleeps-with-men
to-ride-out-the-hard-parts of
daddy issues,
abandonment issues,
life.”
I learned this tactic at twenty
something from a woman
in her thirties. She called
when her boyfriend went to
work, told me that I knew her
body in ways he never understood.
Queer is being the plaything
in people's relationships.
The attention calmed her craving
of appreciation. She was intrigued
by what I scribbled in notebooks,
eagerly listened to what was written
of her. She got her favorite line tattooed,
she has created life, I make sure she cums from it.
Queer is loving you
when no one else can.
I never loved her,
found home in her insides,
peace in her kitchen. The day
she asked if her boyfriend could join
I lost all respect for what we had
fostered,
nurtured,
raised.
Queer is belonging
and not belonging
at the same time.
Treasure is from Petersburg, VA by way of Accomac County. She has been in love with poetry since the 5th grade when she learned it does not always have to rhyme. After studying Literary Arts in high school she has mostly used writing as her escape from the harshness of adult life. Outside of writing, she finds comfort in the arms of her loving wife and rambunctious Australian Cattle dog.