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Said the little boy, "Sometimes I drop my spoon."
Said the old man, "I do that too."
The little boy whispered, "I wet my pants."
"I do that too," laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, "I often cry."
The old man nodded, "So do I."
"But worst of all," said the boy, "it seems
Grown-ups don't pay attention to me."
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
"I know what you mean," said the little old man.
How do you expect
Anyone to write in this
Really weird format?
I love haikus I just thought it would be funny
We are the thrones
Sitting squat in the gutter
Our bodies are charcoal
Our fingers are bone.

We are the colors
Washed out from the river
Through cobblestone curtains
The ravens have flown.

We are the maps
Of a civilized city
With sleek silver Saturns;
A chrome-cluttered rave.

We are the glances
Thrown sharp over shoulders
To plot shallow stumps
Of our moss-swallowed grave.
I am not an "it",
Not a "what" but a "who".
You look but you don't see me.
I am here, so where are you?

Ev'ry time you call me "girl"
It stabs me in the heart,
You twist the knife with "daughter"
And refuse to play your part.

I wonder, if I died tomorrow
What would my fun'ral be?
Into the earth I'd wear a dress
And bare a mask of "she".

My body is my strangled tomb
And, you, my epitaph:
"Here lies a sister, daughter, friend."
But I lie split in half.

Ev'ry time you call me "daughter",
Ev'ry time you call me "she"
Holds a venomous reception
In the darkest parts of me.

You say that it gets better.
Just a phase and nothing more.
I don't know how you can say that
With my heart spilt on the floor.

Walk o'er my bones in high-heeled shoes,
Kiss my pale skin with blood,
You ***** me with names of she
And wash me in pink mud.

I'm smothered with assumptions
And I'm drowned in prejudice,
A balloon fills up inside me
With ev'ry uttered word of "miss".

So if you wish to watch me die,
Melt away and o'er again,
Then tie me to the threads of girls
And taunt me with ropes of men.
I love the way the sky turns lavender along the
Eastern edge of the world before the sun rises
I love the way your long hair and pale curves
Against the blue sheets
I love not hiding who we are.
We should get Purple Hearts for all the times
The missiles of "queer" and "butch" have landed in
The midst of our embrace,
Launched by an unknown enemy before we were able
To twine our hands and hearts on the small-town sidewalks of an August afternoon,
Before I could have you over for dinner, movies, bonfires, and not feel the blue, icy glare of my neighbor
Laying under the lilac bushes,
Watching the day slip into purple dusk with firefly stars.
I love not hiding who we are.
Another part of a group poetry piece
That thing between my legs.
Folded nicely.
An envelope.
A door.
That thing sealed my future
But it isn't me.
I look down and see nothing,
Feel nothing,
Want more.
That cave took from me
All I ever was;
Ever wanted.
Now I have to find it on my own,
Pay for it,
Take skin from my leg for it.
But that thing,
That concave mountain
Of my set role in this society
Can't take any more.
That thing.
I won't let it.
My sexuality is more fluid than water
And cannot be defined
By simple
Text book definition terms
Created by man
To force me into a mold
And put me in the freezer
To stay there frozen forever
As if I was water
My sexuality is not me
But it is part of me
And did I not just say
My sexuality is more fluid than water.
I tend to get stares... Looks... The occasional "are you gay?" With a quizzical look of disgust.
Well, to answer your question, no, I am not gay.
In a society built around judgment and stilted above common sense,
Being gay would mean that I'd have to find women utterly disgusting, flick my wrists, speak with funny and awkward inflections, right?
Do you think I speak with funny and awkward inflections?
Good! Because I'm so not gay.
Being gay would mean that I love to shop, well I hate it!
My fashion sense does not exceed that of a box of colorful crayola crayons melting away in the blistering Las Vegas sun because you see, I don't live in San Francisco, or New York,
or anywhere "gay" people live.
I am not gay.
Being gay would mean that I am immoral but I can assure you, moralistically speaking, that morals are what keep me routinely from listening to Lady Gaga, who I've heard, despite her catholic upbringing, is a devout devil worshiper and I sure as hell don't worship Satan!
Oh no, I am not gay.
My father once told me, in his manliest tone that if I ever became sweet
or my tank profusely filled with sugar
that he'd disown me and rid me of his home.
However last time I checked,
I don't have a tank
and one lick of my tanned brown skin would reveal that I am in fact quite salty!
Salty, as defined by Urban Dictionary, means to be ******.
Bitter. Angry.
Well father, there aint nothing sweet about my wrath.
I'm infuriated.
I'm angry not because I'm not able to fulfill the holistic criterion society has built in order to be gay,
No, I am more upset that there is actually a set of rules dictating whether or not someone is gay.
Now listen to me when I tell you,
I am not gay
I am not gay because I have yet to inject myself of substances with an unsterile needle for all purposes of getting high.
No, I have yet to discover my last ****** partner was diagnosed with *** and that I may very well have the virus.
No, I have yet to interiorly decorate my bedroom with the warm crimson fluid that is my blood because some punk at school thought it was cute to label me a queer.
I have yet to be gay because being gay in today's society means I am reckless. I am promiscuous. I am a *******.
Well, guess what society,
I am not gay.
I am, in fact, a man, who is not your personal show dog for your fashion approval that you can tote around in some cute Gucci bag.
I am a man, who can still appreciate the beautiful magnificence that is a curve when he sees one no matter the person's gender.
I am a man who, despite what you may be expecting,
is a man who, no matter how hard you try to box me in a confined image,
is a man who, will fight to freely be in love with who he wants to be in love with,
who is a man who is not gay
but a man who loves men.
I am not gay.
..
Totally gay.
Love is love is love.
Don’t ever let anyone
tell you otherwise.
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