How in the Hell do I Love Myself?
1.
Masking is when neurodivergent individuals
attempt to fit in socially to appear
as though they are neurotypical.
Camouflaging is social survival.
2.
Imagine me as a drag queen on Ru Paul’s
Drag Race. My name is Suga’ Lips.
Wearing eye blinding pink, serving
candy store cutie realness,
holding a massive lollipop. Colored
sprinkles pressed on lips, finger
in front. Everyone shush,
cause the motha’ tucking winner is here.
1.
too much, don’t blink
too much, don’t stare
too much, don’t smile
too much, don’t talk
2.
Clearly a comedy queen,
with zero fashion. Sense
the other queens that whine
how I get passes during
design challenges, because comedy
queens always do. I’m off in my
own universe, while the other queens
read me for filth.
1.
Hard to keep down
tics that insomnia
and overthinking bring.
Blink, rub hands, bite
fingers, wink, rub face,
crack knuckles, tap knees
in multiples of four, left right
right left right left left right
2.
My rival, Tiggle Biddies
says Miss Lips never talks
to us, she’s always doing her own
thing, I don’t think she likes any of us.
My friend in the werkroom
is Sweet T. She sees the signs,
she’s the sister I need. And we slay,
week after week.
1.
Need for safe space
for safe person. Always
searching, find them,
save me.
2.
Snatch Game is a dream come true.
Freddie Mercury, idol impersonation.
Now Freddie, I’ve heard you like to ride your bicycle. Is that true?
Of course, Ru. I like to ride other things too.
Oh really?
Yes Ru, I would rock you.
Sickening.
Sweet T
unfortunately
goes home,
missing the mark.
I spiral. Feel
like I’m alone. Then Mama Ru
comes to me, and asks
why I am a quiet queen.
1.
I write better than I
speak, because when I speak,
words tumble out before the words
inside find traction. That’s what’s inside
2.
I come all the way
to the final four. They hold a picture
of a young Lee and ask
what I want to say to him.
I say I’m sorry. I never found that time machine that you hoped
I would every night. I never came back to tell you that everything
would be ok. I never told you that you got bullied
because you were different and special, or explain
to you why kids called you a fag
before you even knew what that meant. I never told you that life
does get better. I never wrapped you up in a hug
like I desperately want to.
3.
I place third and come home. I wrap
my wigs, gowns, heels, makeup, padding
in my closet. I stare for hours, the pain
prickling my skin.
When they invite me back for All Stars, I say
I can’t. I haven’t been able
to apply Ru’s number one
lesson.
4.
Carve off the stain glass caricature face
hiding the imposter. Syndrome said it best.
When everybody’s super,
no one will be.
Bath steam spreads. Drape myself in my
tacky, grey, reflective shower curtain.
Disco ball chic. Lean back over
the sink. Lipstick stains the mirror.
Lee Johnson is a LGBTQIA+, neurodivergent poet. He is a master’s student at Weber State University studying Creative Writing. His poem “What I Dreamed Last Night” was published by 30 North Literary Review. He has presented his poetry at English Honors conventions held in Minneapolis, MN and Louisville, KY.