crowded closet: crawling towards self love
sg huerta
Three binders, two white and one hot pink. One is too small to even fit both tits. One day I decided that if someone takes issue with my chest, that’s sort of their problem. I bind on my own terms, which is to say, I’m not binding in triple digit Texas weather. I wear my REAL MEN HAVE TITS shirt with orgullo, and a little bit of fear.
Button ups! Every dyke needs them, yes? A blue and white striped one from the Old Navy outlet whose buttons don’t accommodate the existence of chests. A green and pink floral one from a random store in the same outlet whose buttons don’t accommodate the existence of chests. A navy blue one from Target two days before the funeral whose buttons don’t accommodate the existence of chests. A gray Star Wars one from the Plato’s Closet in Lubbock whose buttons don’t accommodate the existence of chests.
Too many Modern Baseball hoodies to count. Every era from Sports to Holy Ghost. Every color from green to gray to black. Procured from concerts before the band’s indefinite hiatus, and from Depop after it. The ultimate Dysphoria Hoodies for any closeted tboy 14 to 24.
Various artists’ merch. Specifically a white Kid Cudi t-shirt featuring an illustration of the artist wearing a wedding dress, smoking a joint, and flipping off the viewer. Before I met most of my chosen familia, I was hanging around a couple who were incredibly cis and incredibly prone to racial microaggressions. Neither of them responded to my excited texts about my favorite rapper wearing a dress on national television. !!! It was a huge deal for me to see an emo Mexican American man rocking a floral dress while singing and humming along to “Sad People.” Maybe I too can be sad and Mexican American and true to myself and masculine and wear floral things all at the same time. (I’d prefer to avoid national television though– how could I stay authentic with so much outside input?) I wear the t-shirt when I need some of Cudi’s confidence.
Crop tops. I used to love wearing them to combat the summer heat when I was a teenage girl and sort of underweight. Now that I’m at my healthiest and heaviest, I only wear them at home or with chosen familia. Just because I love myself doesn’t mean the whole world will. I will wear one to the outdoor coffeeshop date anyways, though.
The mustard cardigan my father bought to match mine when I was in middle school. I wore mine for years over band tees and hand-me-downs and polo shirts to teach in until the armpits were a permanent overripe banana shade and the buttons no longer closed over my growing body. His fits me so snug now. I didn’t know he still had his until I was able to look through his clothes, two years after he left this world. We look so much alike now.
about the author
Latinx nonbinary person smiling at the camera. They have short hair, large wire glasses, and a septum ring. They're wearing a forest green hoodie with the word SPORTS embroidered in gold.
SG Huerta is a queer Xicanx writer from Dallas. They are the poetry editor of Abode Press and author of the chapbooks The Things We Bring with Us (Headmistress Press 2021) and Last Stop (Defunkt Magazine 2023). Their work has appeared in The Offing, Split Lip Magazine, Infrarrealista Review, and elsewhere. SG lives in Texas with their partner and two cats. Find them at sghuertawriting.com or tweeting @sg_poetry