The psychiatrist tells me I am confused
about my sexuality. I only think
I am a lesbian, because (she tells me)
I am afraid of men.
I tell her she is being ridiculous, and anyway
I loved a girl for thirteen months
before the rape.
The psychiatrist tells me I am lying;
there must have been an earlier rape
And at eleven years old I couldn't possibly have known
I was a lesbian.
It’s obvious really, I’m in denial and all this
lesbian business, it’s just a phase.
I’ll grow out of it.
With the right kind of therapy.
*
The doctor is confused about my sexuality.
She asks if I am sexually active, and then
she asks me why there’s no mention
in my notes of contraception.
I tell her I’m bisexual and she asks
if I’m promiscuous and have I been tested
for AIDS?
One day I go to the doctor for the morning after pill
and she gets angry at me for being careless.
She says What do you mean you didn’t want it?
It takes two you know. She refuses to give me the pill
unless I agree to take a handful of condoms.
I take them without a word
and throw them in the bin on the way out.
*
The pastor tells me I’m perverted. She wants
to pray over me. I tell her I was a Christian, once
but the church and I decided to go our
separate ways.
She say that’s ridiculous;
if I’d been Christian then, I’d still be Christian now.
I just have to realise that I’m fallen and dirty and if I pray to God
he will drive out this spirit of homosexuality.
I tell her she can damn well give it back.
It’s mine.
A gift,
God gave to me.
I think the pastor is confused
about my spirituality.
*
It makes perfect sense to me, I am nineteen years old
and I have fallen in love with a boy
in a black skirt that clings
to his slender legs.
I don’t tell anyone about the skirt.
It would only confuse them.