sometimes i hate being bisexual. i wish i could force my heart to make sense. flirting with men can be fun in an odd way. it feels like when i took ballet. make it look easy while my muscles and heart strain, the heady thrill of a pirouette, the harsh cold of the studio floor, pain biting at my heels, but do it all with a smile, look lighter than air but feel heavy with practice. it can make me happy, but i always feel on edge, waiting for something to sprain. taking flight but knowing when i land, i may crash. flirting with women feels like when i took belly dance. sensual, but soft. your body knows what to do, a twist of the hips, at home with myself and yet so self conscious. feminine and strong but foreign and taboo. as if my soul was on display as much as my body was. it feels safe, and warm, as natural as the dimples in my thighs. like looking in the mirror and realizing for the first time that i am beautiful, but quickly followed by shame and fear, anxious of who may shoot me down. both are fragile, women like a flower, men like glass. both terrify me, and yet i keep dancing