I’d always wanted to.
Raised by attic hand-me-downs
And dismissed with “check in the boxes,”
I was starved for choice.
In school I wore plain polos and ratty khakis by code,
And most offensively a kippah pinned to my jewfro I could not remove
for a God I did not ascribe to.
Just coveting vibrancy felt dirty,
filled me with guilt.
I didn’t even know the word gay yet,
just that it was wrong.
When I found that electric pink button down in one dusty box at the back,
I squirreled it away.
It burned a shameful hole in my closet,
but I never managed to unrack it.
Until years later, when I’d run out of running
and allowed myself leeway to want.
I buttoned and unbuttoned the damn thing at least three times
before I walked outside.
And no one cared.
So, I did it again,
and again.
Slowly building courage to accept
No one had ever cared except me.
A cis jewish gay with short black hair is captured in a vulnerable moment with his second dessert. His brown eyes are wide as if frozen in headlights, but he can't put the spoon down.
About the Author
Eitan Perlin studied mathematics and philosophy, but found a love for poetry in the past two years. He works full time in a small consulting company in the DC area, and spends his free time playing board games in bars and bedrooms. And (of course) writing poetry. He has been published in Kaliope and has a forthcoming publication in Prospectus.