I own neither the poem or Nico Di Angelo. Nico belongs to Rick Riordan and "Dear Straight People" belongs to the poet Denice Frohman.


Dear Straight People,

Who do you think you are? Do you have to make it so obvious that I make you uncomfortable? Why do I make you uncomfortable? Do you know that makes me uncomfortable? Now we're both uncomfortable.

Dear Straight People,

You are the reason why we stay in the closet. You are the reason why we even have a closet. I don't like closets, but you made the dining room an unshared place, and now I'm feeling like a guest on my own boat.

Dear Straight People,

Sexuality and gender, two different things, combined in many different ways. If you mismatch your socks you understand.

Dear Cupid,

Why are you so fascinated with discovering gay demigods? Demigods can be gay, just like demigods can be masochists or vegans.

Dear Straight People,

I don't think the gods have a sexual orientation, but if they were straight, they would be dope allies. Why else would they have let Iris create a rainbow?

Dear Straight Women, I mean "straight women",

If I'm flirting with you, it's cause I think it's funny, just laugh.

Dear Straight Men (cough*Jason*cough),

Leave me the fuck alone.

Dear Straight People,

I'm tired of having to prove my love is authentic, so I'm calling for reparations on your ass. When did you choose to be straight? Did it happen because your parents are divorced? Did it happen because your parents are not divorced? Did it happen because you snorted ambrosia your first week at camp?

Dear Straight People,

Why do I have for prove my love is authentic? Why do I have for prove my love is authentic? Why do I have for prove my love is authentic? Why do you have to stare at me when I hold my boyfriend's hand like I'm about to rob you?

Dear Straight People,

You make me want to fucking rob you!

Dear Straight Allies,

Thank you, more please!

Dear Straight Bullies,

You are right we don't have the same values. You kill everything that is different, I preserve it.

Tell me, what happened to Jose Montalvo, Sakia Gunn, Lawrence King, tell me what happened to the souls alienated in between too many high school walls, who plan the angels of their deaths in math class. Who imagined their funerals as ticker-tape parades, who thought the after life was more like an after party?

Have you noticed that hate is alive and well in too many lunch rooms? Taught in the silence of too many teachers, passed down like second hand clothing from too many parents.

Dear Queer Young Boy,

I see you. You don't want them to see you, so you change the pronouns in your love poems to her instead of him. I used to do that.

Dear Straight People,

You make young poets make bad edits.

Dear Straight People,

Kissing my boyfriend in public without looking to see who is around is a luxury I do not fully have yet, but tonight I am drunk in my freedom, I will wrap his hands on the busiest street corner in Rome, zip my fingers into his, and press our lips firmly, until we melt their stares into a standing ovation, imagine that we are in a sea of smiling faces even if we're not, and when we're not, we start shoveling, digging deep into each others eyes, and say, "Hey baby, ain't nothing can stop this tonight. Tonight this world is broken and we are the only thing that is going to keep it together!"