If I’m bi why can’t I just marry a man? 
I don’t just exist in the spaces in-between 
I make the in-between take up space.
My first crushes were an elf with a bow and young Leo. 
I was so sure of my feelings and also not sure at all. 
After all, I was a uniform school girl who loved RENT.
I wanted a boy because I wanted a boy to want me.
Other girls made me nervous, especially the pretty ones. 
They started to wear makeup. I wanted to be one of them. 
And for them to see me, but what if they did?
Just a little mascara for me.
I went to bat mitzvahs at 13 hoping boys would grind on me from behind. 
I’d ask my friend if he was cute that that was good enough.
One randomly looked under my skirt and I was thrilled. 
It happened years later on the subway too. 
I had a passing thought that being bi would make sense, if only I liked women.
I fell in love with two men, and then myself. 
And now, her breasts are home.


**

I know that I’m bi but

I still try to put myself in a box.

I’m not used to taking up space so audaciously,

But I do so just by breathing as bi.

“Bisexual women and their boyfriends.”

It’s not funny. It’s punching down.

There’s no bi flag emoji.

Just a wave of blue, purple and pink dispersed into the margins.

Absorbed into nothing and then called “greedy.”

Staying committed to bisexuality feels like a radical act.

Sitting in the maybe and in-between and both.

A test without answers.

A tune without resolution that still makes the most beautiful sound.

Lemon bars and cuffed jeans because having “things” feels nice.

The bisexual community slips through my fingers every time I try to touch it.

Magnets that repel each other in favor of picking a side of the fence.

If I claim the label lesbian now, does that erase the men who had and shaped my heart?

I want the moon to be ours.

I know that I’m bi but

I love a man’s hug but I love a woman’s touch.

I don’t know how ending up with one won’t split me in two.