This is probably one of those poems that falls in the "well, duh" category, but I still marvel lat how I managed this.  My parents were actors (for a while, at least) and had gay friends.  I was raised to believe that being gay was "just another way of loving".  (OK, not exactly, but give them points for trying, this was the 50's after all.). If gender affirming care had even existed back then, I know I could have gone to them and they would have supported me.  More importantly, I would have figured out the lesbian part a lot sooner.

Epiphany

The logic went like this:
I know I’m a woman
but I’m attracted to women
so I maybe I'm a man?
But I know I’m a woman.

 

For decades I raced in circles

trapped on that treadmil

of lies and bad logic

until desperation overcame fear

and I sought the care I needed.

 

Then, two young women 
skipping down the street
in Provincetown
laughing, hand in hand,
kissing in public.

 

Free, for a while,
and consumed in the joy of it.

 

I cried for days
because I’d missed the obvious
for so long.
Lost myself
in searching for myself.

 

Found myself angry

beyond belief
at the way the world

had lied to me.
The way I’d lied to myself.

I knew what a lesbian was.
I just didn’t know it was me.