#635

Coming Out

"So you are a
practicing poet?"
she asked,
and I felt unclean
and wanted my closet back.


23 March 1989
  
 

When did you know you were… you know… that way inclined? I wonder how many gays have been asked that question. No one’s ever asked me when I knew I was straight. No one’s ever asked me when I knew I was a poet either. Was I born one? Since I regard myself as a natural poet I guess I must’ve been. I was poetry-curious in my early teens—I guess a lot of us are and for many it’s a phase we go through—but once I reached my twenties it was impossible to deny: I was a poet. I didn’t know any other poets and it was a lonely time. I wasn’t even sure if I was doing it right. Was there even a right way? Occasionally I’d let someone in but most of them didn’t know what to do with the information. I’d make up wee collections for my friends who were polite but never said what they really thought. It was hard.

This was all pre-Internet. Now it’s so different. A few keystrokes and you can find like-minded individuals no matter what your persuasion or inclination or preference or kink. You’d think that’d be a good thing.