I love her
I lust for **him

I am bisexual
don't judge me
because there are many
of us out there
more than the eye can see

If I kiss a woman, I am a lesbian
If I kiss a man, I am straight
I have this illogical need to scream at the heavens from atop a cliff
To scream I’m here in this world; I exist!
To say I am just bisexual is wrong
To say that certain aspect of me is the most oppressed is wrong
I am a woman, I am bisexual, I have tourettes, I have depression
I could go on for hours saying I ams
Saying statements that describe me
I am oppressed and stereotyped by the society I live in
So why is being bisexual the one I defend the most?
I asked myself this daily
Until I found the answer
Every other fact about me is undeniable;
I have a ******
I have diagnoses
That is tangible evidence
I have no sheet of paper with a signature of some fancy M.D.
Nor do I have some body part that labels me as bisexual
There is no definite way to tell if I am bisexual
Which makes it easier for people to say You’re just confused or It’s just a phase
And no matter how often I say it’s not; they won’t believe me
They don’t believe me because I don’t have the evidence they want
I don’t have an M.D.’s signature
I don’t have that ‘bisexual bodypart’
All I have is my own knowledge
And I don’t give a **** if that’s not good enough for you
Because I do exist
And I am here to stay

There's no point in loving
or even liking
a girl like me.
A girl with gashes
on her thighs
and thin, white lines
up her arms;
who won't let you **** her
until you turn the lights off;
who you might lose
at the drop of a hat
because I'm not very good
at keeping myself alive.

She smells like rain on a warm summers day and she tastes like blackberries freshly picked off the bush.
When she laughs, it makes the humming birds sound like nails on a chalkboard and i know how cliche this all sounds but she walks like an angel and i cant help but notice her defined collarbones
She makes me want to write about butterfly's and flowers instead of cut wrists and veins.
I tell her I love her. She replies with a kiss never confessing her love but I say it anyways because her smile creates this feeling in me I haven't felt since childhood and she needs to know she is loved. when I feel her bones on my hips I cringe she's so thin.
This disorder, it's gotten hold of her. Bruised knuckles-never confessing the reason she shakes
Anorexia and bulimia-I know this disease too well. It's chronic, it's an illness, it's a suicide attempt. She doesn't know it's killing her-she refuses to accept that she has it. But at night- I can barley see a lump when she's underneath the covers.
When she dies,  her coffin will be so light people will check to make sure there's a body in it.
Her bones are sharp-like scissors. And I wonder, does she use them to cut? Do they tear her skin open? Is her elbow used to fresh air?
I hold her hands. They're so cold. How can a person live like this? If I could, I would force her to eat.
She hates the mirror. If I could, I would make her see a beautiful person looking back.

Be gentle with her
for the words of others have never done much
but break her esteem.
Caress her undesirable sides,
her spirit breaking thighs,
her disappointing arms
as you would the body of a thin woman.
Be patient with her,
tell her she is beautiful
because for ages,
society, peers, family
have treated her as though she was a blemish of humanity.

Trace the stretch marks along her sides with care
for she is always doing the opposite.
Treat her body with the respect and tenderness
that she yearns for.
Be patient with her,
take her in, savour her, swallow her naked body whole.

Do not get grumpy with her when she pulls her shirt down
during the sweaty collision of your tongues
for she is only trying to comfort herself.
Be patient with her,
instead whisper ‘you are beautiful’ into her skin and
leave kisses of assurance on her stomach.

While she kisses you
let her search for motive.
Expose your good intentions.
She will dust your lips for other girl’s prints
for lack of understanding why you’d choose her.
Be patient with her. It is not your fault.
It is not that she does not trust you.
it is that her soul is laced with disbelief and apprehension.

Listen to her when she voices her worries out loud.
Listen as her voice shakes and she confides in you.
Reassure her, be patient with her.
Wrap your words around her;
create a blanket of trust to keep her warm.

She,
who vowed to him she didn't love;
she,
who broke her word for the first time.