The way I expressed it didn’t fully
Make sense to my dearest
Who only likes men.
I’ve never prescribed to the scrutiny
Eyes of socks eyeing us as they do ****.
I used to see red as a fad that
had past and a warning that I’m
Nor will be, no matter my try.
But I’m realizing now,
Want is deeper than thou who have
wanted me only in theory.
Fruity or trans, and the girlfriend
I have, each is queer and there’s something more in it:
Queers see women the same way
they view art pieces;
So I’ve always been Venus and Ophelia,
The Laddy of Shallot— not some
who’ll answer your questions of
public hair and fair children.
Where a woman I knew
sees a woman as through
some mans eyes focused on her *******—
I cut a fringe for the change,
And remain soft in shape
For these are a lover’s desires:
Wear your identity on your sleeve,
In the curve of your arm, on the scent of your hair and upon the pendant at your neck.
Like the romantics do in literature;
After de-centering men,
You can finally be free.
Inspired by the monologue found at https://youtu.be/0o4heKCLeTs
Nelumbo nucifera, or lotus flower— liberation from attachment.
must dedicate myself to you
Somehow, by staying mine,
Sustaining that which you have loved,
instead of unbalancing us.
I'd never want your lips gone,
or the shine that's in your eyes,
so I'll upkeep my quiet side,
the shimmer in my hair,
to give you me as I still am--
your person while I'm mine.
The false spiraea represents dedication and patience for a loved one.
I am about to
get to know you in summer.
We fell in love in October,
and nourished our bond under blankets
during a cloudy winter.
But I'm about to get to know you
We'll change again, and again,
I hope we never tire like the seasons.
I hope we change
until we go home to the father.
You were a poem I always wrote
You were aflame and I felt bad
She was a future yet unknown
“Us” was in view but not to have.
I didn’t know Her, nor myself
but I knew you, and then I was irrelevant.
It felt like a breakup
I don’t know you and I
don’t know what we had.
title from Arlo Parks’ “Eugene”
You feel like sunshine at twilight
and I can’t wait to spend our twilight—
but I’m too small to burn,
Too young to think about when the sun sets,
Just tall enough to love you,
just bright enough to know what that means.
It was all yellow,
but let’s not be precise
for I’ve just learned to speak my mind—
But you see who I am,
the past couldn’t hold a candle to you in my present,
And your face glows with an energy I
want to soak in forever.
Forever is not for us, now,
though our parents chose forever at nineteen and have felt thirty moons go by.
Is this the harsh blush of youth,
or is this real light we warm ourselves by?
You feel it,
I know it,
But you shan’t tell anyone else of how I
The lure of her bed is
much different than mine.
I never knew another’s bed in which I’d spend time.
One a cradle, a soothing mess of pillows in the dark.
One thirteen miles away and a hundred worlds apart.
I collapse into mine when I feel my life dim.
Hers I snuggle into for the light and anticipation.
I’ve never experienced such dopamine from somebody’s touch;
The excitement of my own fingers wasn’t excitement, but dull lust...
Dianthus caryophyllus-- sweet and lovely.