I'm done repressing my gayness
Because it's the "Christian" thing to do.
I will wear ******* rainbow ****** pasties
And march in a pride parade
If I please
And then go to church and praise Jesus
And God and the Holy Spirit
For making the way I am
And how I am
Because he made me perfect.
I am gay
I am Christian
I am proud to be both.

To you, my one and only unknown love, I bestow unto you my heart and burning desires.
I've dreamed of our wedding day, and much more to come.
But still with a blank slate, for you, my one and only unknown love.

I guess I won that stupid fight of "I love you more."

I am worth more than my *******
My body is worth more than your ***** desires
If you lust after me then prove your desires through a song, written words or simple communication
Do not send me your less than mediocre ungroomed extremitie in a snap
With the word "*******?" written on it
Take you and your salivating mouth elsewhere
If all you see me for is my *******.

You see
A person only truly falls in love
Once in their life time
And once that time is used up
There is no more.
You can lie to yourself
And to others
But if you were truly in love with them
That love cannot be undone.
I am in love.
A love that won't go away
With my best friend.
I fell off
The bridge of love
And into the waters
Where he followed
But his love came with strings attached
A bungee
And he jumped back up
And left me sitting there in the waters
While he's up on the bridge
Calling me up there
While I'm wishing him down here
And I have no bungee.

How is it possible...
To hate yourself as much as I do?
To look down at yourself,
And break out in tears because of what you see.
And there's nothing you can do about it,
But try to change,
And be somebody you aren't.
Try to be the same person,
With a different shell,
And be perfect.
How can you hate yourself to the point you want to get rid of yourself,
Or to the point that you cut and bruise,
And starve.
How can you hate yourself as much as I do?
How does one be happy?

I. Sexuality (textbook definition) - capacity for ****** feelings.

II. Sexuality (urban dictionary) - having been born liking either males or females. Sexuality encompasses being gay, bi, straight, lesbian, *******, or transgendered. Sexuality is the drive designed in humans to what they are attracted to. Most people mistake the word lifestyle for sexuality which is why there is ignorance in our country.

III. Sexuality (to homophobes) - a sin unless you like your opposite gender. No exploring your sexuality before marriage. If your sexuality is anything but straight you're going to hell.

What is sexuality when you develop a sexuality before you even know what *** is?

How is something a sin when it's developed before you reach kindergarten?

I knew I liked girls before I knew how read.

How did I choose to be gay when I have no recolation of ever making that decision?

So the question I come to ask myself is what, I rather how is sexuality?

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.

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.

If I haven't posted in a while don't think of me as gone. I remain here waiting for my inspiration to hit me in the form of a freight train. And if my inspiration never comes; dear Juliet, I still love you.

If only you knew,
If only you could understand,
The one thing that means so much to me.
Love.
I love you.
Its not traditional,
But its true.
Its love.
Love is love,
And details aren't important.
I love you.
I hope,
This is my one hope,
That you love me too.

Don't stand there and treat me with pity,
If you pity me,
Then tell me.
If you you hate me,
Then tell me.
Don't treat me like the lesser,
Because I'm not.
Don't treat me like I'm sick,
Or confused...
Because I'm not.
Gay does not mean lesser.
It doesn't mean sick,
And it doesn't mean confused.
It means that we are open,
Open and beautiful...
We can see the possibilities of love.
We have a different view on life.
We see things from a different perspective.
We're not lesser,
Or sick,
Or confused.
We're different.
Please,
Learn to understand that.

Love is love,
And details don't matter.
Love is caring,
And kind,
And affectionate.
It doesn't matter what the circumstances.

A man and a woman,
Two men,
Two women,
A black person and a white person,
A Mexican and Italian.
A Christian and a Jew.
An Atheist and Buddhist.
One who's 17 and one who's 22.

All of these are love.
I don't care what you say,
Or what your textbook definition of love is.
Nothing you say can change my mind.
Love is beautiful.
Now shut your mouth,
And stop the hate.

All these kids,
They cry,
Scream,
And *****,
"I WANT FREEDOM FROM MY PARENTS!"

That simple freedom does not concern me.
I want freedom, but not just from my parents so I can stay out late.
I want freedom,
From my peers,
From my family,
From the government,
And from myself.

I want to be free to walk down the halls,
Hand in hand with a girl,
Who I'm in love with.
I want to be able to do that,
With no fear in my heart.
No worries or names called,
Or punches thrown.
I want that freedom.

I want the freedom to be able to bring a girl home,
And show her to my parents,
And tell her how much I love her,
In front of them.
I want to be able to talk to my mom,
About relationship problems,
About the GIRL who broke my heart,
But I cant.

I want the freedom to marry.
To marry any person I choose,
No matter the gender.
Male,
Or female,
It should not matter.
My happiness,
And the way I spend my life,
Is not something that should be voted on,
By those with half a brain.

I want freedom from myself,
To accept me,
And be who I am,
Without any shame.
But I can't do that,
Unless I have the freedom from others,
To be me,
And be happy with that.

I want the freedom to be gay.
Some may complain,
That the gays are already free,
Too much maybe.
But that is not the case.
We're not persecuted,
But we're not free.

All throughout history there has been movements for freedom.

There was one of religious freedom,
When puritans came to the New World from Britain.
A war was started,
And freedom came out with a victory.

There was one of freedom for slaves,
So that they could live the lives they wanted,
And not have to be owned,
And treated like property,
By another human being.
Once again,
A war was started,
And the slaves were freed.

There was one of freedom for women,
So that women could be the same as men,
Equals.
There were marches,
And protests,
And women rights came out on top.

There was one of freedom for those of color,
So that they can mix,
And mingle,
With the race that whites thought was superior.
There were marches,
And sit ins,
Protests,
And brawls,
But guess who won in the end?

We are working towards freedom of LGBTQ,
lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, questioning/queer,
And one way or another,
We will eventually get our freedom.

Look at all these past freedom movements,
There were always two sides to it.

Which side are you on?
Is it the right one?

This is not the land of the free and the home of the brave.
This is the land of the *** ******* cowards,
And the home of the "You can be free, if we allow it."

I think its about time we either lived up to our motto,
Or changed it.

When I talk to her,
Or when Im thinking of her,
I cant focus on anything.
I feel buzzed,
Love drunk.

When you told me I was doing great for a woman my size, I passed you off and told myself that "compliment" had good intentions.
When you called me sweet cheeks I ignored you. A woman like me is used to men like you.
When you told me the stair master made my *** look bangin, I was both honored and appalled.  My *** may be my greatest feature but ****** comments have their place and the gym is not one of them.
When you asked me for my number, you were rude, acting in a way in which no gentleman should act. I told you no. And I meant no.
When you called me a ***** loud enough for the whole gym to hear, you were only making yourself look bad.
When you came up and wrapped your arm around my shoulder and told me you were going to take me out for a good time on friday night, I was terrified and suddenly praying for a **** whistle.
When you insisted I promptly informed you I was lesbian, and to let you down gently, not my type.
When you called me a **** I took no offense, that word has become meaningless. Then you told me it must be a phase, that I just hadn't been with a man like you. That you could change me.
When you said "hop on this **** ****" I was done with your games. I pushed you aside and when you ****** my shoulder back you were the one to end up with their *** on the ground.
Dear namless man at the gym,
When you said you could help me through my phase, you were wrong. Being gay is not my phase. Being straight was.

Anxiety is rocking back and forth at 1am like a small frightened child.
It's slowly pulling every single hair out of your arms.
It's biting your nails, and picking at your skin.
It's those tiny snaps that make no noise.

Anxiety is taking a curve at 110 mph.

Anxiety is my red hair.
Its the first thing that people see about me, and the first thing they assume is fake.

Anxiety is puking. Having no control over your body and becoming physically ill.

Its replying to a text message .2 seconds after it was received and then turning off your phone because you don't want to see the other persons response to your swift reply.

Anxiety is noticing. Its noticing the minute changes in tone, posture, manurisims and ticks, music choices when you are around, and how often they use descriptive words that could subconsciously be describing you.

Anxiety is failed medications, after failure, after failure, after failure, after failure, after failure. You become the failure.

Anxiety is a broken record.
Knowing that everything is fine, still panicking at the drop of a pin.
Its replaying conversations you've had with others over the mental dispute of one tiny word, even years after the conversation occurred.
Its overthinking.
It's constantly wondering if your hands are in the right position, if your resting ***** face is showing, or if you have a hair on the wrong side of your part.
It's locking the door, both locks, checking the locks, leaving, turning around and checking the locks again, leaving, and then turning around to make sure the iron is off.

Anxiety is not ordering food because you don't want to talk to the wait staff, nor eat infront of others because you know you will make a mess of yourself.

Anxiety is constantly being a clumsy fool. It's things you can't control and it's faceplants on concrete.
It's making plans in advance, way in advance. It's asking your friends what their plans for New Year's Eve are, even though it's only March.
It's wanting to ask a girl out on a date, even though you have been on multiple with her, and trying to schedule it two and a half months in advance.

Anxiety is lists.
It's remembering what time you brushed your teeth this morning, but forgetting the childhood story your friend told you 5 minutes ago.
It's repeating yourself because you forget your own words from 5 minutes ago.
It's looking in the mirror and seeing a stranger.
It's waking up while driving down the road, having no clue what's went on in the past 24 hours.

Anxiety is like drinking on a hangover.
It's mental, it's physical, it's psychotic.
It's seizures, it's palpitations, it's hospital trips with whispers of a straight jacket.

Anxiety is more than being afraid of a stage, anxiety is the downfall of me.

Is that the lowest moment?
When you don't dare to wear shorts because of the scars that cover your legs.
And then you're sitting there at the dinner table with your family,
And they keep on telling you to eat,
But all you mutter is "I'm not hungry",
When you actually are.
You're starving but your image is worth more than a meal.
You eat a few bites just to shut them up,
And then run to the bathroom to rid yourself of it,
To make sure you can fit into those jeans,
The ones that could stand you losing another 5 pounds.
You get used to the lies of:
"I'm not hungry"
"I ate before I came"
And "oh yeah I'm fine, just tired".
Is that your lowest point,
When the only food you're feeding yourself is lies?

Either way I'm destined to burn
By Christianity; my hell is fire
By reincarnation; hell is to return.

"Turning gay."
Oh how that term annoys me.
You cant just turn gay.
You're born that way,
Its the way you are.
You may realize it,
Or come to terms with it,
But you dont just wake up one day,
Out of the blue,
And say,
"Oh my gosh! I'm gay."
Because then it would be like a sickness.
Something that you can go get reversed.
Its not a sickness.
Its not something that can be changed,
With therapy,
Or meds.
You're born gay,
Or you're born straight.
Just like you were born with black skin,
White skin,
Brown skin,
Or whatever color skin you have.
You don't just turn to the other race,
Do you now?
You cant just turn to the sexuality.
You cant turn gay.

Is it so hard to understand
Contemplate
Or begin to wrap your mind around the fact
That a person
Such as myself
Can be a christian
But gay.
Can be pro-marriage
But also pro-life.
Can want guns,
But also want to marry a girl.
My beliefs.
Don't tell me what I can and cannot believe
Or do
Simply because it doesn't fit into a mold
That you have stereotyped
For that group of people.

They say that I'm acting different in a way,
That I seem more sad today.
I'm not acting anymore sad,
My acting just got bad.
Because I lack a care,
In wanting to share,
The thoughts that took me.
I've stopped acting, let me be.

I say I've moved on
And yet I find myself still liking
Every new status
Every new picture.
How pathetic.

Why do you think that because Im not attracted to you,
That I dont think you're attractive?
You're very attractive,
Hot even,
But I'm not attracted to you.
I'm gay ***,
Not blind.

You never see me
And when you do
You ignore me
And then you whine and complain
Ask why I want to leave.
Maybe I don't favor being ignored.

Perhaps if we are to meet again it will be in a different a life and a different body. Perhaps you'll look at me and smile, have a serious case of deja vu, and try again. A true example of second chances.

How did Heaven drift do far away?
When did California become closer than a place intangible, within your heart?
What do you do when you accidentally followed the red brick road instead of the yellow?
Where do you...where do I, go from here?
Who is there to guide me when my phone accidentally deleted Gods contact?
Why is California closer than Heaven?

Those stretch marks are not tiger stripes.
Instead, they are the waves and ripples in the reflection of the ocean on the side of a boat.
They are proof,
of a death before birth.
Proof of a still born baby's water birth,
and how the pool of blood and fluid leftover from the trauma,
became salt water poisoned by tears.
The red lines are the way her eyes looked.
Blood shot and bruised from the previous blows.
They are proof that she lived.
That the ***** donor that does not deserve the title of father, lived.  
And that the baby girl is dead.
She never got to see her eyes open.
Do not romanticize those stretch marks,
saying that they are stripes that were earned.
They are nothing but scars of a horrifying event that she is reminded of every time she sees a baby,
and every time she looks at her body,
because she is no tiger.

You see,
When you grow up in a place such as I have,
And you're a person like me,
You start to have a special kind of hatred for small towns.

In my town,
In the land of the brave,
And the home of the free,
Things are messed up.
Our motto should be-
Land of the cowards,
And the home of the free (if you're like us).
...They wouldn't even know how to spell you're correctly.

In my town,
Bibles are thrown,
Names are called,
Cars are keyed,
And people are beat...
All because they're different.

Its not necessarily the different that you would imagine.
If you're red headed,
Or anything but Christian,
If you're a yank,
Or a gay,
You're hated on.
I can promise you this.

At the red heads,
They accuse them of witch craft,
And being in line with the devil.
Some have even went so far,
As to burn down ones house.

If you're not a Christan,
Run as far away from this town as possible.
Its not the place for you.
On the road I live on,
There are 7 Southern Baptist churches,
JUST on my road.
Southern Baptist are a little crazy,
Run boy,
Run.

If you're a yank....
You'll be excluded,
And yelled at.
Everything bad that goes on in this **** town,
It will all be blamed on you.

If you're gay,
Oh lord forbid that you're gay.
Don't be gay in this town,
Just dont.
You wont survive.

As for me,
I am a red headed girl,
Who comes from out of town,
Who isn't a yank,
But is still treated like one.
I am a Christan,
But not as much as I need to be,
And I am not quite straight.

I dont like this small town of mine,
But its the place I call home.

Starvation feels like recovery
And food feels like relapse

Gay thoughts,
Gay actions,
Bi me.
Well,
I think.
Possibly.
I have gay thoughts,
And gay actions,
But I also have straight thoughts...
Just not straight actions.
Because it sickens me,
Almost.
With most guys,
When they hold me,
I want to pull away.
People just cant understand,
Or they don't want to.
I may like a guy,
But I want the warm,
And soft embrace,
Of a girl.

Oh, so I'm the ****?
How's that?
When the only person I've slept with
Is the one you call darlin
You know the one
My batman
How is it that I'm the ****
When you've slept with everyone
On Gods green earth?
Watch what you say ***,
I'm not your mirror.
****.

They say that life is like a heartbeat.
If there isnt any ups and downs,
Then you're dead.
But a pulse isnt supposed to go this low...

I want you in my arms,
I want a kiss,
This New Years Eve,
Under the mistletoe,
With you.

Why do I still change
her to him
In my writings?
Why am I ashamed to admit to the world
I'm in love
With a girl?

Tell me something darling,
Can you please tell me this?
Why?
Why does God hate some of his children,
And love others?
Why,
According to you,
Does God hate his gay children?
He made them,
Just like he made his straight one's,
Did he not?
What ever happened to what the good book says?
It says that we who believe,
Are God's children,
And that God loves all his children.
You scream that we are sinners,
You say that we're going to Hell.
Aren't all people sinners?
It's in our nature.
And will you please,
Oh please,
Tell me one more thing.
Why is a person who sees past gender barriers,
And doesn't judge,
And is happy,
Who loves another person,
Why does that condemn their soul?
And make them a sinner,
When hating someone doesn't?
Tell me this,
God,
Why is love a sin?

Tu tienes mi corazon para siempre.

Why take my heart and possess it in a place where it cannot thrive,
Only suffer.

Why be so crule as to take my mind captive,
Then toil and torture it?

Love I will fight back.
I would rather love and remain repressed and silent,
Then to ever ponder hate thoughts of you.

Tu tienes mi corazon para siempre.

Will I walk by the river,
with you by my side?
Or will I lift my eyes in Hell,
for believing in a lie?
I love you more than anything,
I'm not ashamed of where we've been,
but I'm afraid of the fire,
if our love is a sin.

Your elegance entrances me.
The way you carry your words
the way they roll off your tongue
and melt like butter in my mind.
The way you carry your body
like you own the world
like you own the universe.
I am entranced by your elegance.

Cause it’s all just paper in the end,
Were all just stuck here playing pretend.
Some of us acting like we god,
While other have never even heard of a ****** iPod.
We pray to that god at the end of the day,
And then curse his name if things don’t go our way.
We’re corrupted and ****** up, dishin’ out blame,
Wishing for superman, left with some ******* named...
Who gives a **** with his name if they’re all just fuckboys ,
Woman pick yourself up you’re repressed by the man, part of his ploy!
And were all stuck here playing pretend,
Might as well make you name a story for the end.

I almost texted you good morning but I didn't because without you in my life a good morning doesn't exist.

I love...
The way she smiles at the ground,
Whenever shes embarrassed.
The way that she makes funny faces,
When I take pictures.
The way she laughs at my stupid jokes.
How she says "I love you.",
And means it.
How she trusts me with the most important things in her life.
How she let me kiss away her tears.
How she turned to me,
When she needed someone to be there for her.
How she lets me kiss her cuts,
To make them better.
The way she holds my hand,
And leads me down the hall,
And marches on gaily,
Ignoring the comments people make.
The way she snuggles into me when we dance.
The way shes not afraid to be honest to herself,
And be who,
And what she wants to be,
Not what society wants her to be.
The way she loves me.
Her.

My love for you is,
Brighter than the sun,
Deeper than the sea,
Broader than the oceans,
Bigger than the universe,
And stronger than your love for her.

She's bad for me
Worse for my soul
Than ****** is for my body
But yet I'm addicted to her
And just a thought
Can bring me back to my knees
Begging for more
Of my lovely drug.

In response to: Please Don't Put Down Your Pen

You may live by drinking the words,
But I thrive on writing the words.
Perhaps "Please Don't Put Down Your Pen" was written in response to my works, but more than likely, it wasn't.
I live off of the written word.
It is my bread and my wine, my world away from the world.
But I have put down my pen.
Returned it to its rightful place,
The navy blue, leather coated, velvet sleeping place of my works.

I have put down my pen.
My pen has been put down.
Euthanized it.
Comatose in its leather casket.

Let me start by saying one thing,
That two words cannot possibly express,
Thank you.
Thank you for being my best friend.
Thank you for being there,
Thank you for coming into my life,
At just the right moment.
There has been some days,
Where everything is going wrong,
And I'm tired,
And 1000% done with life,
And ready to leave,
And then you say "hey".
My day instantly gets better,
And I dont feel so bad.
You made me promise,
Promise to not hurt myself,
And within one day,
I broke that promise.
I dont deserve to have a person like you,
To call my best friend.
But for some reason,
You stick by my side.
Thank you.
I cant say that enough times...
I love you..
BGH