Being queer and uncomfortable in cis het spaces
#ThingsYouCantUnsay #AddressingCisFolks
I wore my trans pride colors on my necklace, one hoop earring, and scrunchy. I wore my ace pride colors on my other hoop. I want those who know to see me, to know trans and ace people are out there, that it can be safe enough to move through the world.
Safe enough.
I was safe enough.
I wore clothes that show off my body, especially my legs. Late at night, I danced alone with my hula hoop. I danced for myself, and I admired my own legs reflected in windows.
I danced away from the decor. The hagiographic sculptures of cowboys welcomed a specific clientele. Men. I danced away from men.
Dancing away from men doesn’t stop them from asking me if I want to join them for a cigarette.
The buildings were named for states with overtly horrifying reputations for queer people and for people who aren’t white. I stayed in buildings named for places I would not be safe enough.
There were a few people around with colorfully dyed hair. Children, mostly. And staff. The staff sometimes had colorful hair.
Under black head wraps and scarves.
Clearly, being visibly nonconforming was considered unsafe for staff. Hiding themselves made them safe enough.
I stood out. Glitter and joyful outfits will do that. Two different bartenders with subtle queer coding complimented me; one of them was adorably flustered about it. But beyond my intentional queer coding, I stealth reasonably well. I was safe enough.
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