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B The Poet Jan 15
The anatomy of a broken heart is a complicated one to navigate,
All twisted tunnels of disbelief and heartache,
Rough and rocky roads of deceit and mountains of wool pulled over my eyes,
A core rotted through with your lies. 

You made me into a bubble, close to popping with anticipation,
Or nerves, I was never quite sure,
You lured me in and then I was trapped,
You ran laps around me until I was dizzy.

You planted popping candy into my veins,
And filled my stomach with butterflies.
B The Poet Dec 2020
I read this thing somewhere which said,
" Not just God hears your prayers,
The devil does too,
And sometimes he will answer them for you,
He doesn't always show up with all flames and pitchforks,
Sometimes he shows up,
Dressed as all you have ever asked for "
And I see that in you,
Often, there are times where I think that is what he sent you here to do.

I imagine that he just dropped you into my life,
All 3am, tired ocean eyes,
And all of your sweet lies,
All soft edges and messy hair,
And all the times you showed me how little you cared.

For such a long time I beat myself up over the fact you didn't like me,
Desperately seeking for you to fight me,
Give me a real reason for why you didn't love me,
That perhaps it was because you " just weren't ready for love ",
Or maybe because you knew that you would " just end up hurting me ",
Not because you just didn't see,
See the love I had for you,
Or how I wasn't the type for you,
In those bittersweet moments of infatuation,
I would forget that the devil sent you to me,
And when I would come around and remember that,
I was angry at the fact I ever loved you.
At the fact I ever prayed to the skies for you.

They say that " to make art is to bleed without the use of a sharp instrument ",
And as I am writing this,
I am thinking,
You are watching me bleed.

You were the sort of boy that parents warn their kids about,
A cautionary tale if ever I saw one,
A smooth-talking, beautiful boy,
Who smokes, drinks and skates,
But wait,
Here's the best bit,
He has a smile which I swear is as bright as starlight,
And people gravitate towards his planetary orbit,
He collects interesting people in the same way a kid would collect interesting stamps,
He doesn't even need to know them,
They just appear.

You had Saturn in the ring-like labyrinths of your palms,
And your words were the milky way,
Linking together galaxies of thoughts.

I know that he threw you into my life,
An answer to all my prayers,
But also my downfall,

For the devil wrapped in silk is still the devil.

They say not to worship your bad habits,
But it is hard to when they look like the thought of loving you.
B The Poet Oct 2020
They tell me that even when the Titanic was sinking, the musicians kept playing,
And I'm thinking,
How as my body hit the water like springtime roses coming alive,
Like whiskey hitting ice,
When I was sinking below the surface,
You just stood on the deck and watched as I drowned...
B The Poet Aug 2020
How
How beautiful must a black woman be before you mourn her?
How heroic must a black man be before you grieve him?
How cute must black children be before you lament them?
How many cultures must you steal from indigenous people before you begin to see their missing women?

How many women must die from unsafe abortions before men become comfortable with women having rights over their own bodies?
How many corpses of innocent people must there be to make leaders fight for justice?
How many LGBTQ+ youths must take their own lives before governments begin protecting them?

When does it end?
When does enough become enough?
B The Poet Aug 2020
This heart of mine,
It's just a glass jar full of tissue paper butterflies,
It flutters from place to place and finds easy homes in another's collarbones,
Never has the phrase " be still my beating heart " resonated at a holier frequency with me,
This was supposed to be a question,
Not some " diary of a tortured artist " explanation,
Not a poetic confession, or whatever it's become,
I just wanted to know that if I was to listen,
I'd still hear the 8o8 beat of my broken heartbeat,
Because all my heart is,
Is just a glass jar full of tissue paper butterflies.
B The Poet Aug 2020
' Why are you so loud about gay rights, all the time? '
' Why does everything have to be about The Gays? '
' It's 2019, why do we still need Pride? '
Because in the U.S.A, there are more than fifteen states where it is legal to fire someone for being gay.
Because same-*** relationships are still illegal in 72 countries,
Because in some countries, it's legal to stone people to death for being gay.
Because Chechnyan authorities can still issue statements like ' **** your gay children before we do '
Because despite only 7% of American youth identify as gay,
Gay youth make up 40% of homeless youth in the U.S.
Because the average age of a trans person is 35.
We may have come a long way,
But we still have a long way left to go.
I respect your beliefs,
But not when they are damaging my human rights.
I am sick of people debating my right to exist.
I am sick of having to tick the " other " for my gender on forms,
We are proud, we are loud and we will celebrate our existence.
We are celebrating our ability to exist openly without facing intolerance and hatred,
Which in this world isn't guaranteed.
We are celebrating our rights to be treated as equal to everybody else.
Before you say that being LGBTQ+ is a choice,
Let me just tell you that I have friends who have prayed to God to make them straight, do you think that they'd choose that?
I have friends who are scared to leave their houses because they might get beaten up or yelled at in the streets for being who they are, do you think that was their choice?
I know people who have lost their friends, their families and their homes for being gay, don't tell me that you genuinely think they'd choose that?
The first pride was a riot, ****** and violent,
We invited you to fight alongside us but you just cast a blind eye,
Yet you're all glitter and rainbows when pride became a party,
We're here, we're queer, and we are not going down without a fight.
B The Poet Aug 2020
Dusk and Nostalgia are old friends,
They sit drinking orange soda on the porch,
Reminiscing about the old days.
Dusk is all floral sundresses and sandals,
Nostalgia is all leather jackets and converse trainers.

The air is hot and thick with the breath of summertime,
It's like everything is going in slow-motion,
Everything is tinted with this warming yellowish glow.

They watch as soft sun filters through the trees,
The clouds purple, the skies painted pastel pink,
These are the moments you wish could last forever,
These are the moments that make you feel as if you are living in a Polaroid.
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