autocorrect.
autocorrect. homophobe stories
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oliviagemarro
oliviagemarro18. (L)GBT. // I'm a writer of sorts
Autoplay OFF  •  a year ago
to the homophobic straight men who just don't get it— this is for you.

autocorrect.

heterosexuality is a blessing

because you’re late to every mass,

but still you get a free pass,

and you can lie any day

as long as it’s never with another man.

and while I too awoke at dawn

in my gentle woman’s arms,

I can’t ever again step into a church

without shaking like the life

is begging to be let out of me

so it can escape this body of sin.

I want to scream, but I just bow my head

and whisper “amen”

in hopes that a man

will be just the medicine I need

to rid myself of the sickness that

makes you cover your eyes as I go by.

the way you love is easy

because you have every right in the world

to take slow sips at normality because

it will never fail to wake up beside you

and lick the lipstick off your cheek.

she is your girl and you are her good master

and you can believe in her love after college

because her affections are too real to be a phase,

and her parents are nudging her into your arms

while my parents’ fists tighten at their sides

on my wedding day as they see me kiss my bride.

being straight is a lucky break

because you are just a man

with secrets able to be kept

while you think you know from sight alone

that I am the mother of three cats

and I thrift flannels after work

and it’s obvious to you that

my lover must be a stone-cold butch

with tribal tattoos stamped into her skin

because she is nothing more than an animal

with a motorcycle in our shared garage

and a mugshot hung on the wall

where we can never showcase

the art of a child who’s actually biologically ours.


loving the opposite sex is accepted

because the theaters have been built to handle

the hoards of people that will sacrifice hundreds

for another Sparks tale of love and loss.

and my voice may run with a river’s strength,

but never could these words alone

put out the fires set by the junkyard dogs

who drool over the dead-eyed women on Cinemax

who are spread like entrées on sweaty beds

lit so harshly that all the love is scared away.

to be heterosexual is to be fearless

because your love always trends at

the top of every leaderboard

like some kind of score to wink

back at you on the screen

and you can brag to your friends about

how many bitches you’ve screwed

while all I want is for her laughter

to float across my cheek like

a dandelion glides through spring,

and I want to feel her kisses

dewy and sweet upon my skin,

but instead I’m tearing up the grass

just to get a grip so I don’t

completely fall apart when

you call me a dyke again.

So listen here, lionheart, and listen well.

We speak a love language you do not understand.

and you hide in wet blankets knitted

from the lies you tell yourself because

you hate admitting that there are

even more women that you cannot burn.

or maybe you were raised

in the “good Christian” image

that’s as expired and even more rotten

than the yogurt in the back of my fridge.

maybe you are confused

by how girls can please other girls

or by how boys can still be men

as they love one another.

whatever the case may be,

know that we shall proclaim our love

as we dive into battle every day

while you are still asleep.

we are always warriors and

we will be damned before

we ever let go of the hands

we know we are meant to hold.

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