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Sh Mar 2020
That relatable gay dream of running away,
Wind blowing through what's left of your hair,
the first ties to be cut.

That relatable gay fear, questions you'd rather not asked and that subsequent relatable gay sorrow after the answers.

That relatable gay loneliness, all hollow spaces and devoted secrecy.
Bitten back tongues and hidden colors.

That relatable gay moment of finding love in your friends.
Not the kind that you kiss but the kind you hold dear in the night,
as tears drip from cheeks to shoulders.

That relatable gay plan of holidays with your other gay friends, a real family, the one who would love you no matter what.
Cheers and queers and all too far away.

That relatable gay longing for love-
true love-
Like the kind they never show in fairytales,
Real and supportive, never hidden away or forgotten.

That relatable gay anger,
Boiling from injustice always under the surface,
Waiting to erupt in pointless shouts of grief for a world that was not built for me.

That relatable gay exhaustion, hostile slurs and benignant apathy blending together into a reality of unending fights just to keep on existing.

So when someone asks me what makes you a community I show them all those relatable gay moments of anguish and loss, of solemn support and stolen minutes.

And I tell them of how terrible it is that they are so very relatable,
But how wonderful it is that we could at least live through them together.
This poem has been inspired by my gay friends and my own experiences which really shows-
We're in this together <3
Sh Mar 2020
Ego doesn't start a war.

Greed does.

Blood for golden honey, dripping down the lips of rich men finding immortality in money.

Ego may cause a war.
Ego is the lie that the richer-by-the-second men craft so brilliantly
and sell to the masses.

We can understand the blooming bruises of ego, a human emotion to unite us into unspeakable horror.

When we take whatever reason they give us, the blindfold will only come off as the bullet shoots through.

Too late.
Far too late.

A warning for you, my poor worker bees:

Watch for the flow of honey.
Watch for the sting of the queen.
Sh Mar 2020
Sometimes,
all that's left of a friend is the wallet they bought you for your birthday, in the bittersweet smile that appears on your face when you remember that moment.

Sometimes,
they are only in the stories you tell. Their name escapes your lips before you even realize they were there.

Sometimes,
they are in the little moments of regret.
The dull pain between so very few heartbeats before they're gone again.

Sometimes,
they are in shelves of shops,
in "they would like it" thoughts before you realize you can't even remember the last time you've met.

Sometimes,
they are in the moments when you can.

But now they only exist in old photobooks, in fading memories.

In dreams, their faces side by side complete strangers.

They are everywhere.

But really, they are nowhere.
The friends we lost along the way are not always gone.
Sh Mar 2020
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 2020
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 2020
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.

So,
I supposeĀ in a sense,
I have two gifts for you hidden in my closet.
Sh Jan 2020
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
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