Fag Hag

ongoing

“hold still",” Gray whispers, her breath hot with a double shot of espresso lingering in the inch holding us apart. as she coats my eye with a vibrant blue mascara, “blink” she asserts before passing me to Jazzy who applies dots in bright hues surrounding my eyes—her signature look. the girls look at me and rejoice, compliment and giggle. 

just 5 years ago any paint on my face would’ve tensed my jaw and stifled my breath. the girls take me around to show their masterpiece to the other girls and my breath finds its rhythm again.

in the mirror I see the small additions graced around my face and smile, I think back to the girls in 5th grade I would sit with at lunch. we would gag over new Bath and Body Works hand sanitizers, they would teach me how to braid as we bonded over inside jokes and oddly shaped erasers. I remember when my parents asked me if I had any friends who were boys in 5th grade. the small shake of my head and their disapproval would stick with me.

as a small tear passes the dots jazzy softly laid in my inner eye-corner i note a small rejoice for the women who taught me comfort in my femininity. for the small boy who loved the Green Apple Bath and Body Works hands sanitizer that the world thought was too fruity for a young latin boy.

fag hag is an ode to the women who uplifted queer men and taught them the beauty in the feminine. this is dedicated to the girls who stole my poppers, the ones who helped picked up the pieces after a breakup, and the women who glittered my face and helped me find the shine in my own reflection.

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