Here to be Queer

Words by Stacia Laroche

I find a home in the grass; it’s the only one I live in that is just mine. Just like this blue-skyed moment, the only companion I have is the brisk breeze that belongs to spring more than me. I gaze up at the blue sky dancing with clouds like the women I wish I could dance with at bars. I put pen to paper each day, crafting a shrine of a story out of words that worship women, deeply valuing their internal and external beauty that often goes unrecognized by the public, as well as the personal eye. I ask myself - how am I able to describe women, yet not talk to them beyond the perimeters of fictitious worlds? How is it that the characters in my stories have fallen in love before me? I write love stories, but have yet to live one myself. The only one I’ve ever known is a mere echo in the hallway of my highschool or in a dream I didn’t ask for. 

Despite waking up every morning to a new journey and being greeted by my empty bedside at the age of 26, I find great solace in my queerness. It’s a warm hug. One of the best friends I’ve come to know. She’s stayed with me through all of the years and our bond has only strengthened while we walk along sidewalks,  arm-in-arm. Our ring of keys dangling from our belt loops high-fiving our thighs again and again with each step we take. As we continue on with our stroll, judgemental and lingering eyes that overstay their welcome widen our smiles. We’re rebellious teenagers for life, so we will always be young. Homophobia is a fountain of youth and we’ve outsmarted the ones who oppose us. They will all go gray, and we will stay gold. 

The sun engulfs me in its heavenly embrace. I shut my eyes, relishing the feeling of pure peace that's being delivered to me in a land that does not seem to have it. I’m privileged to have this benevolent bliss of a moment. One where I’ve had the realization that my own self acceptance and celebration of my identity is a lover in itself.