queer fear
a magazine for the non-conforming


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Why didn't I say

When I came out to my parents there was this dance between us. I had just told them, essentially, that I had spent the better part of my life deliberately presenting another version of myself to them. I know from my own perspective, it was easy to forget that they might feel betrayed by this, confused, or at the very least like a stranger. As I think about it a year later, I ponder what my mother must have been thinking as the smoke swirled up from the cherry at the end of her cigarette. 

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Where do we go from here?

It’s 6am. I am wide awake even before I recognize the cackling of birds that dwell in the colony outside my window, an old growth orange tree that split about 8 months ago in a windstorm. For days, half of the tree lay across the sidewalk and touched the asphalt of the street while the last tenuous threads of fiber connected still at the trunk. Then they workman came one afternoon and carried off the pieces. Since then the birds have nestled in a little closer, or migrated to a neighboring ficus.

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Joseph Dick

I always knew that I was different. I didn’t quite understand it, but I knew instinctively that there was something about me that was wrong. When I found myself daydreaming about boys and their various parts, I figured it out. I can’t recall a specific moment, but more like a slow awareness setting in, and a strong desire to hide it. I remember hanging out with a friend one warm Arizona summer day, and he took his shirt off. I felt something that confronted me in a very immediate way, so I jumped out of the treehouse. No time for a ladder.

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