and my heart feels different from everyone who has
traced their path over its green and rocky shores
all the steps you have left have trampled in the dust
and rain has fallen in your footsteps
rain has fallen in your footsteps and you danced-
how you danced, to catch the droplets in your mouth-
to taste them, joyously singing while I watched you prance
over the shores of my heart- walking the steps
through my veins and pulsing in my arteries
you, oh beloved ones, shall never be forgotten
because everything you are is carved into my bones
scored upon my marrow
and built into my muscles- I am a named bullet
and have always been one- though the bullet is
wearing down from the number of names etched upon it
and my heart can only pump so many types of blood
before it gives up.

I am at war with the boundaries that divide us
I urge with every muscle to strike them down
though the muscles themselves build the divisions
(my mind can never be in yours because
my body is separate and I will never be inside of you
as far as I desire to go)
there will always be tense heirarchies and lines-that-are-forbidden-to-cross and things
that you musn't say to a teacher, say, or a priest
and these invented boxes line our hearts and claim
that we are not created equal, all men and women are
endowed with certain unalienable rights
like the right to honesty, liberty,  and the pursuit of expression
that though I speak to you I may be fully me
but this can never be- you will always be you
so we must divide, now and stand on opposite sides
of the wall, look at each other through a glass
and though it seems we touch, we never can,
putting our hands up to a window, kissing through it
and my lips shall never meet yours-
and for that, I am at war with the glass;
I long for the warmth and the gentleness of your lips
but cannot, it is cold in between us, it is hell
to divide us and a damning cruelty
unites us beyond time, eternity, my heart beats divine
and you cannot feel it, and for that,
I am at war with the glass.

When your parents are asking about boys and boyfriends
Do you ever wanna just get it over with and scream in their face,
*I AM GAY

Putting on the rainbow bandana  
A sense of pride surged through me
But only for a minute,
Then I walked through the halls,
Wondering who knew the real reason
I was wearing those colors

since when did a boy's attention-span
become more of a concern
than my comfort and free expression?

is her abdomen showing? her shoulders are visible? her shorts just a little higher than her fingertips when her hands are by her side? is her back showing?
lets try this out. why not instead of demanding girls to change their outfits because they're a "distraction" for boys why don't we instead teach boys to keep their eyes to themselves instead of making girls think they should be ashamed of themselves for wearing what they want and being confident. don't perpetuate the idea that you shouldn't wear what you want and be comfortable and confident with your body.
i am a fourteen-year-old girl and i will wear whatever the hell i want.
h.d.

If you are a girl and you are bisexual,
you're really just a ****.

If you are a boy and you are bisexual,
you're really just gay.

Bisexuality isn't a real thing,
it's a phase. You're confused.

All girls are secretly bi.
You're just more honest about it.

Bisexuals like everyone,
they don't know how to have real relationships.

Bisexuals are looking for attention,
They're dramatic,
They're confused,
They're *****
Idiots
Sinners
Immature.

Wrong.


Bisexuals are people.

all those people who say 'family is first'
you are wrong-
your life is first. you are first.
before any arbitrary connection through genetics
and where you spent your first years, family should not be first
you should know that the family you choose
comes first, but even before that
comes the right to choose your own family.

n/a

Wilt thou love me, sweet, when my hair is grey
And my cheeks shall have lost their hue?
When the charms of youth shall have passed away,
Will your love as of old prove true?

For the looks may change, and the heart may range,
And the love be no longer fond;
Wilt thou love with truth in the years of youth
And away to the years beyond?

Oh, I love you, sweet, for your locks of brown
And the blush on your cheek that lies —
But I love you most for the kindly heart
That I see in your sweet blue eyes.

For the eyes are signs of the soul within,
Of the heart that is leal and true,
And mine own sweetheart, I shall love you still,
Just as long as your eyes are blue.

For the locks may bleach, and the cheeks of peach
May be reft of their golden hue;
But mine own sweetheart, I shall love you still,
Just as long as your eyes are blue.