It is words strung together
trying to make sense
of what I want to tell you
and what I need you to understand.
He says things to me, he does things to me.
Shh, don’t tell them, we’ll be embarrassed.
Two loveless souls trying to fill each other’s voids.
We make love, and tame those devils.
Animals we were, but don’t you see that this is our way of love?
She spoke of songs, music, rock and Cobain
She spoke of boys, home, and love
when i joke and ask her/ what if i was in love with a girl,/ it is not a joke either.
now that the private is political
am i a liberal because i don't kink shame myself
or because i go around calling marx "karl daddy"
You come in less than a minute after I do
But always after me
And I wish you'd stay for a while and talk about the day- your day with me
But the line goes dead soon after
I sit in my room every day now
Waiting for your call
To hear an “i love you” from you
With ‘you’ being all of me.
This is the story of three little pigs,
One built a house of hay, and the other of twigs,
And the mightiest, most pompous of the three,
Built a house of bricks under a Banyan tree.
Convinced that she was comatose, the two girls stared at each other for a second or hundred – the squeaky titters ceased.
Gigantic, and covered in striped rainbow tiers,
The house was called, “Safe Space for Our Fellow Queers”
A wondrous haven, a serendipitous find,
Here, Gretel could love freely and Hansel could bind.
Artwork by acrylicelephant
I hate that I wallow
That I bury my face into my hands
Slam the door behind me
And cry all day
I hate that my diary …
she's a habit. an 8 am class that I take, a 5 pm phone call that I make, my best/worst muse.
I am taught by these women
fortunate enough to have had them raise me
whether in my house or oceans away
Hindi Poem by Shubhshree Mathur.
how do you know it's girls?
i wonder as my friend comes out to me
how do you know the limit of your love?
and somehow, weird quizzes dragged me all over the internet
You buy me your favorite Carlos Luis Zafón
& beg, no demand that I read it.
You don't "take favors”
But blushed when I gave you Neruda's Twenty Love Poems- Michael Faudet's erotic poetry, you said, "touched you in places-"
Meera made a friend in the glass case she suffocated in for 25 years.
Here, bisexuality is more like
like gay, but not gay enough,
like double the options (or so you think)
but eight times the panic.
The universe tells you nothing.
But when I first laid my eyes upon her left shoulder,
and saw a tiny, black mole
all this logic was gone.
Shyam and Bunty
Sucking on ripe mangoes,
And so, in the cool shade of the Gulmohar tree,
They bend and break their first ever rule.