Don't call me lipstick lesbian. I'm a femme. I'm a femme because of the femmes before me, the skirted femmes in secretarial jobs enduring the men's crude words and touches to support butches too proud to go out in drag. The femmes who took their lovers' arms proudly in the street when they could have passed unnoticed, knowing it might mean insult- or death The femmes kicked out of dyke CR groups because they would not cut their hair and wear flannel. Don't call me lipstick lesbian. I'm a femme. Femme, as in butch-femme. I love the quiet, solid woman in jacket and tie with short-cropped hair and eyes full of longing. I love the strong forearms supporting her body as she thrusts against me, eyes closed in concentration. I love dancing slow, my arms around her neck, head on her lapel, the melting of the stone. Lipstick lesbians are somebody else Maybe they're the young femmes in tight black spandex writhing together on the dance floor under flashing lights. Maybe they re housewives coming out together at forty, wondering how it could be happening to two normal women. I hope they're not those straight women in men's porn magazines pretending to be hot for each other while the camera clicks. But don't call me lipstick lesbian. I'm a femme.
Don't call me a #lipsticklesbian. I'm a #femme.
#LGBTQIA+ #poetry #FaitheWempen
#Don'tCallMeLipstickLesbian