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Sh Mar 19
I want to be kissed the same way I once craved adventure;
A little girl, dreaming of climbing mountains, of quests just like the ones in her books.

The same girl dreams now of the gentleness of soft hands cradeling my face, of stars in my eyes and giggles in the night.

I want to be kissed the same way I once craved adventure;
In theory.

I want not the cuts and bruises from the stones, the unbearable sun beating down at me as I climb higher and higher.

I want not the relationship, strange lips meeting mine.
I don't want to see a face all too close, to know its details or hear its name.

I don't want to be kissed.
I want the fantasy of romance, the love of the story, the soft gestures of imagination.

If I am but a character of my own creation,
then I don't want the story to come true.
Me, reading a story with good romance: *swoons*
Me, imagining it happening to me: "ew, no thanks"
Sh Mar 16
Your bones have not yet grown weary and tired,
but I still catch myself saying goodbye.
Between forehead kisses and morning cuddles, I think of the days to come.

Your last day might be tomorrow, just as mine.
Your last day is long way to come, mine even longer.

Impossibly longer compared to yours.

I catch myself saying goodbye in fresh tears and desperate holds.
In the days when I can barely look at you, forcing back my eyes to meet yours, knowing I will regret all the moments I looked away.

When I was little, I dreamed of immortality.
I didn't understand, I hadn't thought of the quiet ways you say goodbye, years before they're gone.

How fast a single year passes compared to seven.
How slow.

I've given you my soul as if it could grant yours more time with me.

I would have given you more, I would have shared my days with you until my hair began to fall in white strands, thin old spiderwebs,
and I'll know I have no more time to give.

As I look at you I can't help but think of the creatures of the dark and air, light and fire who are fated to lose their loves to old age for eternity.

As I look at you, I can do nothing but wonder if they feel the same.

No longer a dreaming child, I look in the face of immortality.
I will not live forever, I will not outlive the earth.

But I will outlive you, an unbearable burden to survive through.

An unbearable weight for the day we'll both say, Goodbye.
Sh Mar 16
I have two things hidden in my closet:
Your birthday gift and my pride flags.

I ran to my room and tore them down from the walls the moment our company has arrived,
Preserving our doll house image.
The natural heterosexuallity I've learned to imitate.

I supposeĀ in a sense,
I have two gifts for you hidden in my closet.
Sh Jan 12
There was solace in the quiet,
before you opened your mouth

And proved me wrong.

Like a hawk in a hunt, a fresh guard,
I held into my walls.

Surely they will accept me.
Surly they won't.
Black and white together, mixing into gray in a never ending spiral.

Long after you knew and hugged me a warm reassurance,
I told you, yet again, I have never been attracted to a man and probably never will

And you shot the bird out of the sky with your words of,
Never say never.
I'm getting tired of this "we say we support you but still hope you'll become straight" thing my parents are doing so here's yet another vent poem
Sh Dec 2019
I used to be included, back when the group was small.
I used to play the game, back when we weren't yet as grown.

But now, I stopped arriving at the events you planned.
Bailing at last second, the brain yells it's a mistake.

The years flew by, anxiety holding me back.
Back home where I heard of the fun they had.
The lingo they developed, experiences they shared.
Inside jokes and common friends I've never even met.

It's a certain type of loneliness, the friend on the outside.
A certain type of pain when you're the only one to blame.

Stopped to be invited, what did you expect? When you never show up to the insane plans they make.

I'm so tired of being on the outside, being all alone.
Surrounded by my friends and convinced that they don't like me.
So tired of looking through the blinds, only catching glimpses of their lives.

One might say, the solution is simple.
Just get into the new-old group, bland right back inside.
But how will I accomplish it without the proper tools?
I ask you now, how do I get into the room?

Another says I communicate my problem.
Please consider that I'm a human disaster.
Don't like to talk of feelings, don't want to talk of pain.

It's so much easier to repress it all again.
I found a bunch of mostly unfinished poems in my notes so guess what I'm doing instead of studying for my final
Sh Dec 2019
When I die,
Don't let me die straight.
Don't let the world think that I enjoyed *** and romance strictly with the opposite ***.

When I die,
Don't let me die cisgender.
Don't let the world remember me through misgendering.
Don't let them bury me in the wrong cloths,
Don't let them cover it all up with their fancy words.

History came as history goes,
Twisted with every word.
Just because I talked to that one once,
doesn't mean that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with them.

Take the evidence, don't throw it away.
Don't let it rot as it's being washed over again.
Hold it up, don't let them bury me deep down in their lies
Pass it around, don't let them ignore my cries.

Don't let them walk over my grave as I lie.
Don't let them erase me when I die.
If I am to be remembered somehow,
Remember me as the queer that I was.
Found this in my notes from awhile back and you know what? Mood
Sh Dec 2019
Like remoras surrounding a great shark, Death too has company.
Little flecks of despair floating in the air around your body.

Desperate for their master, they harm you.
They can not touch a hair of your body, nor lay a hand on your shoulder.

Instead, they whisper.
Mean little thoughts, innocent suggestions that are nothing if not malicious.

Little proposals masked as questions-
"what if you did"

They can not push you off a building,
but they can urge you to stand at its top during a windy night.

They can not control your body to run in front of the hurrying cars,
but they can tell you-
"maybe you should"

Death has many little devotees, reuniting at the collection of your soul.
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