The moods of her hair
The moves of her lips
The bites of her lips
The touch of her toes
Does she know what she makes me feel?
Char of my burnt heart—
Makes watery her eyes
Tears skittering down on her hot cheeks
I long to but cannot wipe
The skin experts say to leave the pimple alone
But I was sure she knew better
The third time she said
I walked around like a leprosy patient
‘With all that on your face’
Momentarily shaken, out of
This haze. Drugged by your love.
Your previously sceptical voice:
"You want me so bad,"accepting.
learning the existence
can change lives and the life
You just smile at your father when
He does something kind
And say, “Papa I want a man
Who is as caring as you!”
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