Your voice
That touch
Your touch
You’re touching me
I’m touching you
Skin against skin

A kiss;
Lips against lips
Gentle
Yet so rough

Tongue against tongue
Lips against skin
Tongue against skin
Teeth biting skin
Ever-so-delicate

Hand meets hand
Fingers touch
Fingers cross
Holding on tight
Hand against skin

Butterflies
Goosebumps
Hands against chest
Softly caress

Lips against neck
Lips against lips
Whisper “I love you”

Skin against skin
Arms wrapped
Chest against chest
Nails against skin

Lips against lips
Tongue against tongue
Sudden gasp for breath

Eyes meet eyes
Eyes roll back
Eyes close

Teeth against lip
Nails against skin

Arms wrapped so tight
*“I love you.”

you wrap your hands
around my ever growing waistline,
yet I am beautiful,
you told me so,

or was that a lie,
and where do the truth and your lies separate or are they the same now,

do you know the honesty you lack,
and maybe i find that attractive,
do I?
how could I not know you were incapable of truth telling,
bi personality,
a hybrid disease of acquiescing all that you seem,
and I've believed you,

what does that say of me?

Love.

It's such an easy word to scoff at.
We are born with our parents
nursing us on it.
With promises of never letting
that well run dry.
We live the rest of our lives
dedicated to finding that love in another person.
To discover that true, pure chemistry with someone.

As much as I hate to admit it
I want all of this and more.
I'm only human.
I just can't break out of this cage.
A cage built on a foundation of
ignorance, Jesus, loneliness, and hate.

That must be what a tiger feels like.
Living everyday enclosed by thick glass walls
watching everyone else live the life you want.
To be able to walk outside
with my fingers interlocked with the person I care about most
Without being stared at
Without being told it's unhealthy
Without having bibles thrown at us.

I'd ask my parents to make me free
But they'd just swallow the key
So I'd stay in there forever.
Because letting me breathe the outside air
would be conceding to what their upbringings told them.
It would be admitting that their baby boy is abnormal.

Somehow they didn't get me the memo
that I can't share my love the same way the normal people can.
That I'll never be able to feel the soft skin of my own child
or be able to hang a piece of paper on my wall
announcing my promise to keep my love forever.

You know, it's not like
I ever wanted to be in here.
I didn't choose to be trapped.
I didn't choose to have my life criticized and nitpicked.
I didn't choose to feel like a pariah.
If there was any choice involved
It certainly wouldn't be this.

I spend my life screaming
and pounding the glass
hoping people hear me but
really wanting to hit hard enough
to shatter some of the glass
and let the shards meet my skin
so I can feel something other than
guilt
shame
and embarrassment.

For now, I just stand hear
Wishing, hoping, needing
Someone to see me.
Someone to hear me.
Someone to find a key
And free me.

1
with each passing day you only grow yet more sickened by your every birth rite; keep your loathing for your *** and your name in a glass full of soil on your bedroom windowsill where the light will bring life before your societally imposed sense of shame can strike it down. you belong in a textbook of the future, a born-astronaut’s biology class.

2
here is somebody else’s name; here is your voice, with the texture of a nimbus cloud; here are your eyes coloured all blue, but a sickly sort, blue like a vein, blue like the wrong side of the sky, and the wrong shape of skull.

3
by the time you wake up, the world has already determined who you are going to be today. randomised generation: you are, you are a girl, you are doe-eyed, you are bitter, you are sweet, you are a puzzle to be solved, a shell to be broken, a wrong to be put right, you are pity’s cygnet under the wing of the mother bird, you are beautiful. you are beautiful. but you want to be ugly.

4
you want to be a blank slate.