I burnt down the metal cage
that confined me

I have broken up with God
and I am blossoming

without his hand pushing
my head down

I eat blackberries straight from
the bush

tasting the dirt where they grew
the tightest bud bursting

into fruit that nurtures me
that sustains me

I am Godless and cageless
I am a woman of

flames, starting fires
wherever I go

burning, burning, turning
into ash

into the very dirt I courted
with my purple stained

lips

I wanted a home
inside of this violence and
begging for fresh air.

You seek forgiveness
but without any effort;
You want religion.

Slept next to lions,
and only woke up alone.
Meat still on the bone.

Woke under covers,
my whole skin bleeding warnings.
I took ill in dreams.

My nightmares grew worse;
fortunes withered before me.
Food on the table.

Morning sparrow do not fly,
But stay aside my stoop and sing,
Your warm, effulgent songs of joy,
That give your life to everything.

Her sharp melody rung,
And spilled in to the air,
The sweetest that was sung,
Arresting and fair.

Joy is the thing which flies,
That frolics in the sun,
Resplendent in the sunny beams,
Eternal life just begun.

I don't hate you
I love you, more than anything
And you know that
             But
I do Hate each and every person
In your life
             Who made you so Vulnerable
That you can't accept
My Love for you

©SmitFairytale

I do not have a gay agenda
That consists of me stealing your faith
Crushing your god
And molesting you with my eyes
If you pass me in a crowded hall.

I do not have a gay agenda
That consists of me taking the minds
Of innocent children
And leading then into devil worship.

I do have a gay agenda
That consists of me (a girl)
Finding the perfect girl
To call my wife
And start a family with.

I do have a gay agenda
That consists of me letting love be fluid
Labels have no meaning
Or bounds
And letting religion roam free.

So with my simple gay agenda of love
Why are you so worried?
Are you afraid that my agenda will beat out yours?
After all love trumps all hate
In the end
One way or another.

Growing up gay wasn't easy.
Always knowing I was different to the rest.
I never felt right, never felt normal.
Because I'm not.
I'm different.
But sometimes difference is good, isn't it?
I've accepted myself.
But some haven't.

They called us names on the playground.

We were small. Cherubim-faced terrors with bruised knees and perpetually greasy hair.

We dreamed of our lives after college. After our first cars. Our first houses. Our first jobs. Imaginary model wives and spoiled children. The All-American Daydream.

We didn't know what college was. We could barely see over the dashboard on Auntie's old Cadillac.

We grew up.

You became a man. Good-looking, strong, covered in tattoos. Scars on your chest and scars in your head because they called us names on the playground and those curses stuck with you.

Through every needle, every pill and every doctor's visit.

It was worth the pain, you said.

You'd do it all again, you said.

Live through the taunts. Live through the nights spent screaming up at the sky and asking God why He made you that way. Why He didn't make you a he and gave you ******* and hips instead.

They called you names on the playground. They called you something that you never were and never wanted to be.

Now we've outgrown the passing fancies of shiny trucks and four-bedroom houses in quiet suburbia.

Given up a life of apple pie to live between paychecks in a ****** Brooklyn apartment.

You're happy, now.

Happier than you ever were when they called you girl as if that were an insult.

As if they didn't understand the contempt they parroted; spat, hate.

They called you a name.

Then you changed it.

Became it.

Then your name set you free.