Lesbian.

From being a young child,
It’s been a word you don’t utter in public.
It’s a taboo.
A word that defines you as different.

So when i figured out I liked girls

(and only girls)

I called myself anything but

that

word.

Gay, lesbean, wlw, girls who like girls

Anything but that ***** word that no one said.

But in actual fact, I am growing to love it.
The women of history using it as an act of rebellion,
To show their difference from the rest.

The L in LGBT+
That’s me.

Her hair may smell like sweet summer rain and her smile always settles weirdly in your stomach, but she is poison. She is a toxic cocktail garnished with cigarette smoke that reminds you of the night you came too close to kissing her. She is unattainable, she is right beside you and yet your fingertips cannot ever quiver hard enough to close the gap between you and her.

You crave her so desperately. You would be humbled to fall apart for her. At her feet, you’d make your bed, and there you would stay all alone through the night, dreaming of how she swore she’d come back for you. There you will stay while the dawn filters in through the drapes, while the sharp rays of early morning light are all that is there for you to blame for your tears. She will not come back because boys will be boys, with their tousled hair and heavy brows and all of their hard edges, and she will love them for that. No matter how hard she bleeds before he gives way for her, she will melt into him.

She wears your sorrows like a dress gown. You tell her past the knot in your throat that she looks gorgeous. Your palms itch; it takes everything in you to not smooth down the ripples in the fabric around her hips. Her night skin’s being shed by calloused hands within her first hour out at the bar. And in a few hours’ time, she’s battling her hangover with her head in your lap while you comb through the mess of her hair and tell her that she still deserves better. She says she knows that already.

What she doesn’t know is that you do, too.

The cool crisp evening air
We sit on a metal bench
Feel the wind blow through our hair
I look at her, feel the warmth of her skin
She no longer talks anymore
She stopped eating
She finally let depression win
Her eyes stare into the unknown
She couldn't handle the constant rejection and teasing
So into the river, she threw her phone
I grabbed her hand that's quickly turning cold
The slits in her wrist create a puddle
the blood turns brown as it gets old
The color in her face continues to go
She begins to shivers as she gets more cold
I look into her eyes
Soon her soul will be no more
She whispers softly....I tried
I hug her tightly and reply ....I know

What you are looking for in your modern children and that is missing
Get that in flowers
Which too are your relatives

Yes, I lost her
But the pain I gained losing her
Was worth every second she was in my life
The broken heart in this chest
Holds the ghost of her tightly
And this heart
Remembers
All