The Honeys

by Ryan La Sala

I know people think being queer is, like, very fabulous and full of witty repartee and all that, but sometimes it’s also crying in the bathroom of an Applebee’s somewhere near Margaretville, New York, while Rihanna’s “S&M” plays on the speakers for the early-bird crowd.

It is up to you to demand people see you as you, or they will almost always decide you are someone else.

grief, I have learned, cracks us into pieces that make all sorts of strange, alarming shapes

I leave the lip gloss on. Bright things in nature are often poisonous. Let that be my defense, then. Let Aspen watch, and predators prowl, and all the waiting jaws yawn wider. I will be a ruin to consume.

I wonder what it must be like to walk through life with the assumption that you are indestructible.

A dark joy sparks to life in me. Spite. That’s what drives me to get up and don the heavy fabric armor.

Same bestie same

We don’t make people ask if we know what they need. We just give it.”

“Having people try to burn you like a witch kinda ruins the whole summer camp thing, Wyatt.”

“The way you have to think just to survive. It’s messed up, Mars.” I shrug because, yeah, it is.

“And everyone acts like it’s easier if we just don’t talk about her, like they’re doing me a favor. But it feels like she’s dying all over again.

The monsters worth fearing are the ones that are dangerous enough to hide in daylight.