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I'm desperately searching an outlet
But you act
and you write
and you paint
and sometimes, when no one hears it, you even sing

I have enough outlets, but i can't let myself out
I don't come out
Maybe that's the thing
Maybe that's where the problem lies
But I still search

I try to craft my feelings away
And then, on better days I feel so confident
I am my own outlet
My own porthole

But what about these other days?
I don't have time
Again, I should long be asleep
I feel like school's eating me

And I just add the salt and pepper
I think I sat here for too long looking at and deleting old pictures, some of which really were a way for me to express myself and erasing them for ever (at least from my phone) left me with a sad feeling. I also came across pictures of the boys from my drama club who left school two years ago and who I really looked up to which amplified this sadness. Oh, sweet (mild) dysphoria I'll probably never conquer...
It is strange
how even on this platform
where I am so anonymous
I'm afraid to express myself
To tell the world
'I'm bi!' 'I'm queer!'

I am afraid that my poems aren't good enough
That I somehow make them ***** or less worthy
By using all these terms I value
supposedly with pride

I am afraid to give myself some space
to grow
And even now I don't even want to publish this
But anyway
Here you go
Some thoughts I have concerning my very own poems. I'm not too fond of them but I guess it's not up to me to decide whether they're good or bad so I'll post them anyways. Maybe someday I'll look back and say 'See - it was a desicion I made and it was totally okay to make that decision.'
The strongest men are not made of steel
They’re not born of iron or lined with ore
No the strongest men will wait and endure  
For whatever they want
Until the world turns no more
And So I Wait
Tiny fragments
of me
now exist
within you,

They reside
in your memories;
we've made
more than a few.


Tiny fragments
of you
now exist
within me,

They remain
in my heart
indefinitely;
in my soul infinitely.

By Lady R.F ©2016
Pick yourself a flower
From the fields
Within my heart,

I make you a promise:
My kind, caring fragrance,
From you,
Will never, ever part.

Pick yourself a berry
From the branches
Of my soul's vine,

My giving, eternal sweetness
Will remain with you forever -
Beyond
The end of time.

By Lady R.F ©2016
Dedicated to my precious family
and friends.
***
Wishing you all
a very happy new year!
Broken
does not render someone useless,
nor does it mean that the end has come,

It simply means
that the person has been mishandled,
I believe, that this is the case, for some.

Broken
does not mean hopeless,
nor does it mean that better days,
for the tired soul, will not arrive,

It simply means that the person
has to work harder
to bounce back,
to be brave and stay alive.

Broken,
in itself,
is beautiful,
it means that the person
has lived,
experienced and survived,

Broken
means strength and endurance -
It means, that by a Warrior,
defeat was denied.

By Lady R.F ©2016
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