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I still find it hard to locate my ‘queerness’ at times. I genuinely worry about it. Is it at the bottom of a pint in the gay bars or clubs I frequent? Or did I leave it in my house next to my keys? Perhaps it’s in the pocket of my partner’s jacket that I borrowed? Or I might have left it at that protest we were all at? I feel like I’m always looking for it, trying to define it, to make it tangible so I can ask it questions, give it a snack, or just say thanks.

This article appears in the 372 Issue of GCN

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This article appears in the 372 Issue of GCN