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Make Muse

For the young womxn who wants to make a change.

How To Come Out To A Sexist World

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Much of my feminism has been shaped by a miniscule part of who I am, my sexuality. Growing up as a young, bisexual female, I’ve seen sexism from a different light than that which my classmates and heterosexual peers have experienced. I decided to explore the time in my life when I came out to my best friend, and bring light to the importance of speaking your truth to the world and accepting yourself as a woman, feminist, and more importantly, human. Through this, I also wanted to highlight a prevalent issue in society—the fetishization of women’s sexuality in society.

Becoming Myself

it took three years to get

the words out of my

innocent, teenage mouth.

Three simple words were stuck

on the tip of my tongue,

content in silence,

found their comfort

in never revealing that

i was different than everyone else.

i protected my identity

changed the gender pronouns in my love poems

from her to him,

crushed on that girl in math class

in the back row,

(silky brunette hair)

spent hours daydreaming

of alternative universes

from the unexplored crevices

of my developing mind

i stood prey to the silence

the nerve-ending,

spine-bending,

fear of being myself.

i never showed those poems

to anyone—

my sexuality was a secret I kept from myself.

one day, I let myself be known

in quiet conversation,

a normal Tuesday,

the day I felt like a Hero

I was careful not to let the words drip

onto passing ears.

they oozed off of my tongue

like caramel,

my best friend was the first to know.

the bittersweet words felt sour on the ears.

she disappeared into her own

self-induced shock,

paralyzed by the reality of

three little words

(“Kristie, I’m Bisexual”)

suddenly, I was a daisy

in a rose garden,

a full moon

in the light of day,

entrapped with sin,

for months praying

for alternate endings

a nice vacation to conformity,

sweet escape from the

bitter, hard-candy center

of hypocritical men who use

my sexuality as a playtoy,

a personal accessory

that can be switched like a remote.

the ones who paint their perfect

portraits of women lusting after each other,

kissing,

fucking,

anything out of their own imagination,

however, the same men who

manipulate their perfect scenario

to place these women together

like puppets,

scorn the women who love each other

unconditionally,

tenderly—

without them.  

I said my truth that day

as a proclamation

that belongs to me,

a demand to be myself,

no matter the sexist consequences.

a declaration I wrote,

allowing myself

to be a free woman.


 

Author: Heidi Perez-Moreno

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