And when her eyes turned,
brown to blue,
I drowned in them
navigating too far into the oceans

She blamed herself
took matters into her very own
pale
impish
hands

And before they could arrest her,
She buried herself
into the the eyes of her lover,
smudged in soil,

Maybe that's why I loved her.

The subtle cross between intersections, a life of blurriness, through crossed t’s and neatly dotted i’s I removed from the phrase Poetic Form, (trying to spell it without crossing myself back into it).
From lesbianism to manhood,
to cross what being a man means,

I wonder if my own identity is written in pen and everyone wants it typed and edited,
Yet I’ve taken the plastic keys off my computer board and made them into magnets last week,
Setting myself up with stolen magnets stolen blocks,
Putting them in order on my own fridge,
Scrambling them back because there is no order,
They only told you there was so that way you’d sing a song,
But I know now that I can write words, there’s no need for a pre-prescribed song when I’ve written my own,

In my own words.
When I look back and have pages of songs nobody else asked for or decided to write,
When I’m in class and I pocket my songs into stories and my stories under my low grades,
Under my teachers’ requests for MLA format,
I think of that caterpillar I played with in my room when I was six,
And how i thought about how people only wrote about butterflies
And how the caterpillars felt about that,
So when I asked my mother to ask her friend, an author,
If she’d write me into a novel,
Would she ignore me because I was a caterpillar,
Only choosing to open her mouth and write when my story became beautiful and socially acceptable,
When it grew out from the pubescent disliking of itself and stained the sinks of society,
Out of a hot *** of queer and quarantine,
Till the broth of the fluidity of my own being was was down the rabbit hole
Till all that was left was whitewashed spaghetti?

If these songs were anything I could write down again and again,
In pen, ignoring the requests to write neater,
To type faster,
If I put all my work into an envelope I already broke,
Shove it into a mailbox decorated with things people disagree with,
My pages bleeding ink few people can touch without being soaked,
When they ask me what to file me under
I don’t say “minority fiction” anymore

I say file me under “road signs”
At the intersections.
File me under that caterpillar,
In the wheat field,
Next to hydrangeas on the dinner table
A Sunflower in the spring
The harvested Brown Rice,
So when you make me into a meal I didn’t ask for,
I can be at least eaten by the vegans.

I’ve sat in throngs of people,
between seas and seas,
knowing there’s a small chance
salt gets called by its name
CaCl2 instead.

I’m constantly aware
I am one compound;
full, contradictory,
Knowing people will find
In the ocean of things
More salt as oceans evaporate,
Lifting to clouds,
Till only enough is left for us to swim in.

A little girl,
collects the beautiful things,
the Seashells people always want
—conversation,
joy,
money—
In ziplock bags,
with water and the
handful who can handle it,

And we,
Undesirable
stay in the sea,
Brushing from horizon
to horizon,
until we’re swept up,
Or drown someone.

1.)

I came home from a marching band event, (I'd call it a football game, but in that little tent on the sidelines, the whole football team gathered and watched their 69-0  loss.) I barely ate and went to sleep.

2.)

I scrolled through Pinterest and saved dank depression memes.

3.)

My unofficial girlfriend called me a GIRL and I've died inside.

4.)

I didn't complete that assignment, I just sat there filthy, unshowered, and called it depression, instead of calling my therapist.

it's not that i don't trust people,
it's just i keep all my hardships to myself.
if i were to tell you everything on my mind,
you'd race for nine one one.
if you asked me all the things i know you're begging to ask,
you'd see me on my knees at the alter,
confessing my sins as if i believed they existed in the first place.
it's not that i see you as a threat to my personal privacy,
but if i were to be honest there'd be tears in your eyes.
I'm sorry.
You always wondered if i truly meant it when i spoke it and i'm hear to tell you sorry is my honest truth
because if
i wasn't
i wouldn't bother
saying it
and if i was patronizing
you
i would just apologize,
but never sorry.





if you were to look at my pinterest page,
you'd admit me back into the physic ward.

You're one of those girls,
the ones with the fire extingishers for mouths,
cooling me down,
until my words
aren't burning,
Just warm.

I've imagined a romance plagued by jazz.

Ella sings in my head, as i
fall in love.

Billy tells me your secret wishes, as we
dance around a christmas tree that barely fit in my ****** apartment.

Louis sings you to sleep
Whenever I never got to say goodnight.

Normal is so odd,
So superficial, so
Ugly. So why
Do I want to
be it
So bad?

I'm broken. drunk
Entirely off of you.

Your breath,
mixed with Mine,
Intertwined,

Against a world,
Who never wanted us here.

Maybe
some people
die alone,
because
their soulmate
already died.

I wonder if mine died already.
I wonder if i'll live to meet mine.

connection
over
blood

i wear more black
Now,
than i did
at my first funeral.
Who died?



Me?

I wanted you to fight for me,
not with me,
&against me.

I have spoken
too hard, too much,
I can't feel my face anymore.

I am a fighter.
My fist aren't
as powerful
as my mouth
(as much as i'd like them to be)
so I swing my tongue to
form out syllables,
instead of my arm.

Unfortunately for you,
I can't fight who I am.

I am not a dog who
will roll over for you,
then expect you
to throw me a bone.

I am not a woman
you will pressure into silence.

I am not a person,
you will force to conform.

You scream
your injustices
around me and

I disagree
I fight back.
I don't back down.

I don't apologize for it.

My lips stand
so badly beaten,
blood fills cracks
of my dry lips,
but I'd say
it was worth it.

I'd take
a couple of napkins of
soaked blood
over submission
to wrong doing
Anytime.

i imagine that you're dead. i imagine that you're laying in a ditch, rotting. it's just easier that way. it's easier for me to believe you've died than to face the harsh reality that you're never coming back. you're gone. if i was honest with myself, i'd stop imagining and notice the new people in your life. how you tense up when i see you because now i write poetry and drink tea and hate myself. we used to do that together, hate ourselves. we used to fit, nail and hammer. at one point, you couldn't push me down further so you left. you became a ***** driver, ******* me over, ******* others over, until there's nothing i can do to help. i don't tell my therapist this. how i've stopped becoming a nail and become someone different. reading poems that don't rhyme anymore because they fit  too well together. i've become a *****. i keep other people together while they ***** me over. i look for broke people and fix them before i fix myself because i'll probably always be like this, this tool for people to use until i stop working or break, but at least they're a little more together than before they met me. i wish i could be honest and tell myself you aren't ever going to change, and blame me for leaving. I wish I could, but i can't.

""It's weird, you know. Meeting all the requirements for living things, but not feeling like it. You tell yourself just breathe, breathe in an out, in and out, until you can do it without reminding yourself. I find it amazing. What makes us human? Genetically, trillions of things, but what makes us separate from all these 'wild animals'? Compassion? Compromise? I haven't seen that in years. At least not in genuine fashion. Those all come at a cost. Everyone wants something in return for it. I think that's what fuels my fire, knowing everything comes at a price."
"Love comes at no cost" she'd say.
"Love comes at the highest cost: there is expected love in return. There, you are expected to keep living, breathing. They want you around, even if you don't want to be there yourself. That's the cost of living and love. Doing more than just existing in this world, even if it's just for others sake.""

"Everyone goes one way or another"

I don't think this is what you meant it like that;
I don't think you even knew I was listening.
I guess we both misunderstood the situation.

******* slowly
Time close
to me,
hanging on
my side,
the side I kept
my tattoo.
                                    Buttoning quickly
                                       Tying my shoes,
                                              laced in fear
                                                 &uncertainty.
                                      
                                   A few hours
                                      away from thinking
                                         about who I love


              (My own personal bomb),
  

                                                                                    ...thinking of you.

What good
is a professional
shitstarter,
if nobody is there
to continue the riot
once it has begun?

your lip tasted
Different.

...you weren’t mine
anymore; even the
cherry lip balm
couldn’t hide that.

you looked at me
and cried.
Everyone wants a love poem,
but even those end.

Always love deeply.

Be with someone who knows they can't stop the world for you, but will help you make your path on planet Earth with them.

Change what you don't like. The world built for one group of people and it wasn't us. We are a community, every minority, and the world was built to destroy us, not for us to change it. Change it anyway.

Don't listen to people who don't think you can. "Too idealist" isn't a thing. You can be the dreamer and the person who makes them come true.

Education isn't everything. If you go through high school and find out school isn't for you, that's up to you.

Family isn't blood, it's who's there when nobody else is.

Grades aren't everything. There are plenty of well off people who have failed classes\courses\assignments.

History lies. It only tells one side, like everything was black and white. Do your own research.

Identity is important. Respect your own and others.

Joke carefully. If nobody finds it funny, it's not funny. If you wouldn't say it in front of me don't say it.

Kindness can get you far. Every interaction you have means something. It shapes you into who you are and aren't. It alters the world, even in the slightest way.

Love is respect first. Then adoration and all the other more exciting things.

Mental health is just as important as physical health.

Never be afraid to try something new.

Observe your surroundings.

Pick your battles or be one hell of a fighter.

Question everything.

Read anytime you can.

Sexuality and gender identity are fluid.

Take photos.Selfies.Pictures of everything you see.

Use your resources.

Value everything you have and everything you don't.

Wear whatever makes you comfortable. Clothes have no gender.

Xe is an gender neutral pronoun.

You are important to the world, even when it don't feel like it.

Zealousness is never bad.

i went on. i went on and never spoke to you about how cracked little by little till my insides seeped out.
the coffee shop knows my name, i've been there so many times everyone on every shift knows me personally and ask how are things. it seems everyone knows you too. i feel bad for putting them all in a terrible position, in between you and i; i've always lied & return home.  
my thoughts have shifted since i got the courage to think freely again. i sit in the bed and crash, hoping you'll return next to me. the spots you touched on my home knows yours. the corners of my mind ache hourly. all i see is you standing in my door frame with a smirk on your face that could break me in half just about now.
i suppose that's easier than just hollow.

and when i leave you'll wonder why you stopped drinking coffee. you'll wonder why you've picked up a rather large pack of tea at the grocery store instead of what you're going to eat that week. you'll look around in an empty house and wonder why you're pantry is so full but you'll only eaten delivered pizza and the tea i left behind when i packed up and never looked back.

I've offered you
an opportunity
to be my
whole world.

Darling you deserve
to be their
5 course meal.
I wonder why
you'd rather stay
their side dish.

please come back

this time i’ll remember to forget who i was when you aren’t here.
i’ll come as you want me to.

i ****** myself every night,
your memory being the weapon.

i saw you last week in my dreams and
you beat me with the thought of you

i stood still, covered
in blue, still
you never having to beat me black.

Do you remember the
night of cold; a thick blanket of
snow and anger frosted
over your frozen body?

i
laughed at
the complementing contrast,
and i beat me with my memory
again.

I camp out in my room
light switch feet away,
my feet,
shaking against my own will.

Your memory plays in black and white,
as if we made a perfect,
tragic film.

Was color ****** out after you left; or
was it never there?

I suppose you feel threatened
huh, Amerika?
It must hurt you,
pain you deeply,
I care not to live
by these
Idiotic
Heteronormative
Cis-normative
Sexist
Anti-feminist
Racis­t
(or should I say Rakkkist)
Xenophobic
Homophobic
Doesn’t want to to deal with AIDS crisis
Abilist
Capitalistic
Fascist
Doesn't give a **** about the poor or needy
Supports **** Culture
All Lives Matter except trans women, women, people of color AND Black  Lives,
Electing Donald Trump
society.
I hope your founding fathers
Choke themselves with the noose they made,
in their respective graves.

Keys are carried around by you
on a chain
you made from the arteries of my heart.

Too bad the keys
don't fit the
lock anymore.

I changed it.

The blue was taken
out of the birds in the park
and put into my heart
with a cold as deep as
my room in the winter
when we didn't pay the bill.

The blue forces memories  
of the behavioral hospital

The Spiderman bedding
over my father's house

My mother's face covered
in poorly wiped tears
from hours of me lying
unconscious in the hospital

as she prayed silently,
and I said in the darkness
of my own head
"God doesn't do anything for atheists."

I want you.

I want to know your favorite color and your middle name.
I want to know about the people you hate and how you found out you loved women.

How do you make your sandwiches?
What foods do you like and can’t pronounce?
What places do you want to see and what words do you know but can’t explain the definition?

Can we cuddle?  
And by cuddle I don’t just mean lay on you, because trust me, I can do that without cuddling. By cuddling I mean let me hold you till you forget your problems and I finally stop talking.

I want to call you baby. I want to sit in a room, with you, listening to jazz music.

I want to feel your pulse and you feel mine,
I want to hear your heartbeat dance to the rhythm of the same songs on the corny playlist on Spotify I made that remind me of you.

The Special Playlist,
(I call it)
The Makeout Playlist,
(you do).

I want to only be about to hear our synced hearts
and the slow songs
and the weight of the world leaving our shoulders
plopping onto the floor with your worries
and the jacket I took off of you when you first came in.

I want you to tease me
because I significantly failed as a former lesbian
because I’ve never watched Orange is the New Black
or The L Word
“You’re not Lesbian certified”
You’ll tell me.

I want to speak to you
In my limited German vocabulary
and watch gay movies
and let you tease me even more
when you find out I can’t sit through *** scenes
even the really gay ones,
and ****** isn’t my thing.
It’s okay though,
Your laugh is cute.

And I want to kiss you.
I want to kiss you like
we’re those ***** *** teenagers
from Romeo and Juliet,
(but with a better ending).
I want to kiss you like
there’s nobody else in the world
And there aren’t people who hate me for liking you
And your family won’t care if you love me because
****,
I want to kiss you.

Let me buy you flowers,
and want to take you on dates.

Let me take you to McDonald’s
and order off the dollar menu because
I believe in treating my girl right
(And I get an employee discount)

let me tell you why I churches make me nervous
and how I don’t believe in God and
why I don’t like birthday parties
And how I want to have my cake and eat it too
Even though I hate cake
And prefer cupcakes,
But nothing is better than cake if that’s you.

I want you to know why I played trumpet for three years then switched to baritone,
I want to know if you’ve ever done drugs and how it felt.
What are your morals and values?
What’s your utopia?

I want to send you goodnight texts and spend hours talking about nothing
And dance offbeat with you because
neither of us could have rhythm to save our lives.
I’ll let you scream fight me when I let you win in games I would destroy you at because you get that goofy smile when you think you’ve won.

Introduce me to your family and I’ll show you mine.
Let me see your baby photos and we can see foreign movies on Netflix.
Let’s go out for coffee and ask deep questions.


I don’t care, okay?
I just want you.

Kiss me like we’re going to die tonight.

Kiss me like a meteor
will crash down on top of us
and we’ll burn͞
(like the churches want us to burn)
Under it.

Kiss me like I did
Back when I still cared what people thought
And kissed boys the way I thought
Was socially acceptable
Because being gay was wrong then.

Kiss me like we’re that stupid couple
That make out in the hallways
like they’ll never see each other again
and block our way to our classes.

Kiss me like those lesbian love songs you love so much,
let our rhythm play the beat through us,
and let it make you believe I can sing,
because this is the only time I’m in key.


Kiss me like we’re going to die tonight.