All I wanted was to drop to my knees
Put her body on the altar and revere her.
Trace those veins I see on her neck
See which terrains they lead my fingers to.
When I kissed her, she didn’t feel any different? It didn’t feel like I was kissing a girl, not a boy.
I wish I could be as bold as you,
Scream as coherently as you,
But all I have is a wave of volcanic anger
Trapped in the closet of my heart.
Those who have perfected the art of grieving
will burnish their loss with tears
till it is shiny and reflective. Something to sit in a collection.
Cages of patriarchy
Bias, gender norms of society,
The institutionalised oppression
Of our challenging beauty.
Yes, I will always be a bisexual
Like you will always be heterosexual
In that you won’t act out on your attraction
Towards another woman
And will respect us
For as long as we both shall live
One night and one conversation
I'd ask you if you loved me
when you were sober
i want the aesthetic of your femme presentation
i want your top vs. bottom
i want your queer vs. woman
We move on, leave people behind
Yet; the closet,
does not forget
and holds the power
to unexpectedly remind
Reading through the poems, the readers might feel like reading a personal diary or journal, and that personal, private quality of the poems add to their relevance and relatable quality.
I lie down on my bed,
I lie down on my bed & look at the ceiling-
And I think how all of my family members deserve to get awarded
Because of their brilliant acting skills.
Locked lips and my hands on your hips,
But your hand, it slips.
Am I the labels i was born with or bestowed upon me?
My mind has slowed down for the millionth time today
The clock ticks slowly.
As though it’s not moving at all
It’s 8:17 am
She pulls my chin towards her and we’re already very much there
I dig my fingers inside her hair, long and flowy
Rough at the ends dusted with the powder of a newly purchased swim cap
All the moaning drowns out these voices in my head
One the count of three,
I will ask for your hand for a walk,
"You will call me by your name and as I will call you by mine",
We will walk by the beach to the sunrise,
Sharing a kiss and a moment so divine.
This is going to be a bad poem.
Because we've all gotten sick of
Hearing people being called 'home'
And partners and soul mates
And we roll our eyes now
When yet another person
Talks about having a connection
But I don't mind repeating verses
Because everytime we meet
It's like we never said goodbye
So who gives a fuck
about being original?
For the word 'hug',
I know what it means,
I know what its purpose is,
I know that it is supposed to provide me with warmth,
A shoulder on which i can cry and laugh and talk about weird stuff,
A shoulder on which i gently lay my chin.
I hope this life brings me this treasure,
So the triumph of my struggle will be a measure,
To reunite my body and soul,
And I will once again become whole.
Its these boxes of the past-
They’ve told me cis men show love this intense
Can’t take no for a no.
But here you are scaring me,
A woman in love this intense
It is a new morning.
You know you will have to do this over and over and over.
Everytime, you get a little bit stronger. Not because it gets easy, but because you know the
battleground so well.