Leave me here,
like you want me bad enough
You still don’t know the way I work
which way it tilts and how to hit it
you try to hit it—
And put me on my own,
as if this is about me
the only way to come is
if it’s anything besides me
Maybe it’s your desire
an instinct or an experiment
conversion or love filled sentiment
alas the lore finds me in the dark
no girl
a self hating pool of warmth.

i have a lot of questions
and i dont know what we are
i learnt last time agreements not e-
nough to make her yours...
And you live much more freely than she did
in the first place, much less scared,
so prospective having you for me is
impossible
or so i fear...
I'm not embarrassed any-
more for where we're headed to
but something's also broke in that
you come more than i do
i'm working on the medicines that
keep me far from you
there's nothing that i want more than domestic life
together, and soon...
i've got a lot of fear for taking this step.

each of us twitch in the fingers and toes,
two people jolted repeatedly in the day,
And each of us want to put the electricity to good use
so we move; and
Running my hands through your hair feels like flying
There are bruises on my neck and cuts on my tongue
I am pulled to you.
You pull me into your chest while you're sleeping,
You pull me onto your lap in your room
it smells like *** and sweetness
Rose petals and pachouli in your dark curls--
There's a place I'm trying to reach in the center of me.
You help me find it.
Thank you for lending me those glossy dark brown eyes to see with
however long we last.

The way I expressed it didn’t fully
make sense to my dearest
who only likes men.
It's never sat right to me
the pride of a parent in their straight child's love life,
the "don't ask don't tell" for a gay daughter
I used to see red as a fad that
had passed and a warning that I’m
not desired;
But I’m seeing clearer now,
Rose-colored glasses might
actually bring life into focus.

We're all fruity and nonconforming
girlfriends and boyfriends and partners each
Others cringe hearing "queer"...
Yet there’s something more in it:
We don't have an explicit gaze,
We have possibility, and the subversion of male eyes.
So I’ve always been nearly regal like The Lady of Shalott, or Lady Lilith,
The Birth of Venus,
Flaming June,
The Accolade— and I
like *** and I
feel wanted and I
am a commodity--

Don't a man look at me but
I will take a boyish girl's gaze
only her eyes focused on my *******—
Sleep over after the first date, for a change,
And remain soft in shape
She murmurs a lover’s desires:
Wear your identity on your sleeve,
In the curve of your back, on the scent of your hair and upon your hips, which invite her hands.

Once, I said "let's make it cinematic
Like that one *** scene that's in Mulholland Drive"
But now: "Touch me, baby"
It's finally the normal way.

my hips, my ***, the insides of my thighs
Don't need to give her tips
because they're true, already tried,
And she asks without a word
(i never knew consent to be so smooth)
I've never had a lover
just a love
Now *** is never 'wrong'.

Then there I was, excited-
The question hit me straight-
"are you queer now?"
No, I'm with a girl, she's lesbian bait;
Don't criticize her anatomy.

until it becomes wretched
and primal.

ever since mankind had brains
we've been trying to turn them off.
yes, that was written on beer
but i think it's about critical thought.

It was a look in her eyes I'd never
seen in his-
Taken a bit off guard but
looking, as it is-
Respectfully, she's got respect but
don't know how to read a room
Respectfully, after a year she stopped making me feel desired
Broken finger, love still as tombs--

I miss that look in her eyes.
She became for me what he was.
Took me a bit off guard but
also built up over a year or two-
Respectfully, I wouldn't ****-talk her but also sometimes she was mean
Don't know, did she intend it?
Or are we all needlessly cruel things?

By the end I felt disgusting.
The beginning was sublime.
I read these poems and realize,
we did it right, and she was mine...
But I see now loving isn't always enough.
You have to work at it.
She tired of working.
I had to leave.

Help me stop consuming
that which won't fill the need
the binging and short-form content
Temu, sugar, greed
i can't wait for forgiveness
the kind one gives themselves
For consumption to be sunshine, partners, languages--
Literature, walks and
making things-- as a behavior
I want my voice and life back
to feel beautiful and strange
Not absent, hungry, listless
The way these days have been...

a haven or a coffin?
which one is the room of
             an ordinary girl with
                   ordinary problems

and i wanted to know,
what
in this present moment
made her inaccessibility
so much worse than the
      Infinite
      rejections of the past.

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 jocks eyeing us as they do ****.
I used to see red as a fad that
had past and a warning that I’m
Not desired;
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 Lady of Shallot— not some
acquiescent cool-girl
who’ll answer your questions of
***** hair and fair children.
Where a woman I knew
sees a woman as through
some man’s 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.

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.

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
but up-close
I don’t know you and I
don’t know what we had.

For me,
men are not romantic--
The way I love a woman is
so much less traumatic
than what straight girls
intend to endure--
Being lead on is common, I’m sure--
And she never fooled me,
She never used me,
Never did her silence spur anxiety--
I eagerly guided her fingers
inside of me- Where
Boys would lean above you, ***** in power, see- there
Hurt you as they *******, and always them to please--
Dear, your pleasure is mine and
you’re the cause of mine and
I know you’ll treat me different; Better
than what I thought could be fine.
I’ll make you finish and upon me
you’ll dine.
Women-love-women love is superior,
sublime.

Taking her in is a wonderful thing
No longer does peace rhyme
with my suffering-
Today it’s rational fears;
A test, eating well-
Going off to college and
dying off to hell-
Now peace is my room in the morning light
It’s Baroque chords and high marks and
skirts tight-
It’s comfort, and people,
And especially her,
It’s her bold mouth and walking hand in hand
The same hands under her shirt-
And finally do I know what life’s meant to mean.
And finally do I realize peace does not rhyme with
suffering.

Now I know that “eventually”
will turn to “Now”
and the way we can be-
hand in hand through town, or playing footsie
under the table
Strong hands, soft lips,
feminine and able-
Smiling with teeth and teasing
incessantly-
Hands on waists and watching her, existing,
being her whole self
And so lovely.

My God
knows Love is all I seek-
Not a life of ***, hedonism,
lust, gambling, and parties-
I do want kids,
to be a wife,
To give back in some way-
To be an aid in someone’s life
and live by what He says-
So what if I’m the wife of a woman?
If our kid’s DNA’s half ours?
I don’t think He discriminates-
Pursue what’s good;
That’s what He asks.

I wished so gently for
a rush
though gentle, it was
always there
My heart constricted in a
crush
my mind rebelling
isn’t fair
I wish a woman would
approach me
Sincerely, it’s not all
about me
so help me God, it’s love
it’s love- a gentle
woman, fine and fair.

somehow the only
adolescent
stories worth telling
are reliances on someone
to *****

Your face lights up when you
see me in the hall
It’s such a feeling-
I confess to you, but only halfway
when I murmur, “liking girls
is all I can think about these days.”
And from you, it’s “awhh”
just like when I told you that
“I want you”
That was seven months ago
I’ve such an uncertainty.

Some days I think I possess
inside my body
unlimited possibility
While others I wish for nothing more than to discard it and move up, and away.

And you're beautiful,
and that catches me,
caught in the snares of awe and empathy,
plus sweet summer associations.
If misery welcomes company,
we’d enough misery to
warrant one another’s company for a million years.

If dreams be brief and solemn-sweet
content is in my making.
If dreams be drawn and rip’ed rife
more mood is for the taking.
I’s fine for week till suddenly
dreams crash upon my brow.
Awakening in my running heart
that life is just a sound.
or the nobody I’ve found.
Or all I fail to do.
Or who I want and cannot have.
In a gentle way, I shake my world
inside me when nothing’s really ******-up
Conflict is in my default settings
so I revert once the battery’s
used up.

Are men an acquired taste?
Women leave me
wondering intently
though I should leave a
small and short brief-moment
to remain musing.
Better slow than hasty
but she’s looking really tasty
and my heart’s all in.
A guys just not the same but
still my heart’s all in.
I’ve tried, is it
simply still too early?
Is it my youth,
are men acquired taste?
Girls make my heart skip a beat
but who’s to say that’s where I meet,
atop that certain label
simply “I’m not it”

She was a shadow
Changing shape into
women I know–
and it was less about
body language, and more
about wanting
And I leaned in gently,
and she, regretful, told me–
And I had made
one of those senseless
dream-mistakes–
Katherine and
Gracie, know that
I’m sorry,
is this how I turn out?
She’s a friend, she’s
“not into it” and I
felt
the guilt of it.

“Perdón, amor,”
I’ll call you “love”
so quick and bright
with a smile-
Don’t mean
you’ll stay
but just that “hey,
you’re someone I enjoy.”

And mention you might I
don’t see me as cute
in the way
one looks at a child-

Try as I might
I do take “no” as an answer
Let’s just speak to one another
and I’ll be content.

Intimacy apparent in every word and gesture,
you wanted peaceable company.
I wanted flame and someone to love.

Open-mouthed kisses
may turn it up
They weren’t blisses
but rather, corrupt
I needed ending
And that’s what I got
You needed something
So to you, good luck.

I question myself:
Do I want a girl,
and the mind’s eye says it
could be you?
Perhaps it’s what we had,
briefly,
and the legitimate possibility
of the lovely new?

Soft arms,
eyes, and curves,
for bellies and for little ribs,
and thighs and voices higher up,
and the comfort she gives me.
And the excitement of the experience.
And warm lips, round cheeks,
a gentle touch,
and confiding in someone who understands
a bit more.
I love you but it’s hard to fare.

And very much not you.

Venture to try her out
But venture tamped
I feel a little trapped
in what I, for myself, created-
I look straight and I’m private,
I’m Catholic and I’m quiet,
even my sister won’t acknowledge that I love women.
We’ll attend to that eventually.

“I CHOOSE TO FEEL” should be
emblazoned across my chest
like a badge of honor
reclaimed from the badge
of shame it was
intended for.

his lips on my skin...
Today I feel I want it all-
tomorrow I’ll want nothing.
And surrendering, at this point,
feels much harder than fighting.
I’ll continue
with his lips on my skin
but still; I want
girls, girls, and someone new to love.

Youth desires trysts
hot blood,
and new pursuers-
She desires more ease than work
not to seek but be sought after;
And I possess Her like the rest,
somehow I’ve had two lovers-
Yet both are not who I would have picked for myself,
both male and wildly immature...

I get myself into tight spots because of this desire,
and then wish just as quick to run from the admirer,
I want, all at once,
to be wanted and to be alone,
For Logic tells me
“you need none”
but my body wants Youth’s hot fun...

As soon as ruby lips met mine;
Contrast this opposite my own fair time
with him
I’d rather she be here. But pieces of
decision come hidden under frail silk
and I remain in bed instead of up

And I want to bare all
but everything’s diluted to me
The words in her pages are
sad but carefree
and I don’t know why it cannot
be that way for me...

I admit to myself I want women,
And I want her world to stop giving me ideas about mine.
And I soak in her story like a glass of fine wine.
I want girls, but this
is not where I can be.
This life as I am is not discarded easily.

Everything *****.
I cannot simply quit a crush
that isn’t how it works.
But a part of me wants to forget it
because that means I can forget her.
I think it’s there, but buried deep-
myself I’ve been denying.
And I told her, once, I was over her
She likely thought me lying.

I decide “emotion’s up to me”,
not Out of my control,
and so far as I have let me be
Will be as far as I will go.

my hips, my ***, the insides of my thighs
I tried to give him tips
but they were tips he never tried
And he would always ask
(nothing wrong with consent except for here)
I told him, fine.
and that action’s
never wrong.

Then there I was, upset-
The question hit me straight-
Was there no chemistry between him and I
or was I the one to blame?
Tiffany, you useless lesbian.

Tethered, you held onto me,
flame you heated in me-
subtly feeding me
more and more hope.
Today the game has died
your mouth would open wide
gaping in stark disgust-
when someone thought love was us.

Twenty-nine poems too much-
outside, I had quit after “no”-
but inside, a fledgling hope
kept fighting on.
A wish for us did survive
and the Universe urges me,
“Let that want fall asleep;”
“Please just let go.”

Unemboldened resolve
whispers wantings
to me
Now I hold back desire
held by blindness and inexperience
If I had any chance
I would ask, I’d confess-
Yet you
and I
end here.
I won’t trespass, and you ought not to know
how I want you.

My thoughts are often consumed by
the ****** intimacy of two people;
me and Her, and Her and me.
I don’t yet know her face, but it’s
always a “her”
and I don’t know what to do with that information.

I tested the waters,
baby girl,
and you took it in stride-
You’re a friend.
What comes next cannot be mine.
And I want to confess,
pull you close,
chest to chest,
and yes I want to talk but that’s all we do.
You’re not into the type of sweet little thing that I miss,
And I miss last summer when you gently flirted
with me
I miss the way you would glance
like I have been
I’m preoccupied, babe, take your time-
I’m not right.
When you said no, it was in six different shades.

And we were talking, leaning,
and we were staring, thinking,
United in avoidance
And I was wanting
you,
longing to close the distance.

And I dreamt of you-
in a way that meant desire
And I had just thought, too,
Why is it always men in those faded visions?
or rather, boys, because who doesn’t want a common thrill?

You got your hair colored
I have to remind myself not to occupy my time with endless thoughts of you
I almost wished that you were aware.
It’s almost a thrill how bad I cannot have you.

When I doubt myself, I remind myself,
how could it be a phase-
just curiosity-
When that same honey-colored flame
hasn’t died fully
coming up on a year?

Your hands in my hair was a thrill
oddly intimate and difficult to place
Now you’re not even around.
“You and I shouldn’t feel like
a crime.”