You can call me Alex or Alexandra
The first time I said I liked girls my voice broke
Everyone turned to me as if I had cursed at the dinner table
My mother told me to go take a shower and think about it
But mom, you can't wash off who you are
And yes, I have been thinking about it
A lot

In a small town news spreads like wildfire
I was the walking disappointment in the middle of town square
I had been reduced to it till I was purged of this evil that threatened to claim my soul
No one would sit next to me in class
And everyday after the assembly I was taken aside and told I would burn
Hell had no mercy for those like me
But people, you don't tell a sixteen year old child that she is possessed by the devil

And the other day when I went to get my hair cut
They loped it all off
And they said there you like to **** girls now you can be a man
But a bad haircut doesn't make me a man
And all the abuses you can throw at me won't change who I am
And I stood there with their glares digging daggers into the back of my head
The old man cursed ****, and the parents covered their childrens eyes
As if I had a disease they would catch if they looked for too long

And they threw a burning stick in my front yard and said burn you deserve to burn
So i did
I burnt
I burnt myself piece by piece till there was nothing left but ashes
But remember you can burn down one Alex, one ****, one unholy sin but
There will rise another and another and another
Till this world will have to change and then
There will be a **** at every street corner and
I will look you in the eye and say how many will you burn?

You can call me
Pretentious
With my fancy words and
My endless rants
About
These beautiful words, worlds and
Fantasy lives.

I talk about being alive in
The lilt of those words the
Curve of my tongue rolling off every
Lush little letter I talk
About poetry and magic and
An exasperating universe.
And god! I'm breathless

With the chaos of this beauty
And the beauty of this chaos.
And god every deep
Breath is another burst
Of magic and every new word
Settles into the depths of my
Soul.

****, I try to be humble but
Everything in me sways
And sashays
To the rhythm of these words
And its song entwined with the
Melody of my heart, I dance
And I jump and hum with all this joy.

Never pretentious.
Always alive.

The familiar wrenching in my gut when you speak of love
The acidic burns and aches I keep bottled up
Become a flashflood
Rushing through my veins, poisioned lines constricting and forcing my extremities to spasm
You cast your words fruitlessly into the chasm
The indescribable void that lies before us
My hands scraped and bloodied from tearing down the nails that keep your heart boarded up
I can never break through the barrier you have erected
I leave myself vulnerable to your outlashes, you remain overly protected
Sheltered from the reality that is the extension of my love through every action
Every emotion you stockpile and ration
Maintaining a craving in the depths of my essence
For your ill fated presence
You bask in the symphonies that expel from my eyes gazing
Hear the strings and percussions playing
Without every fully repaying
Any emotional debt you may have accumulated over time
Fingers dancing along every line
I have written vast and true as the moon above
Yet I feel the familiar wrenching in my gut when you speak of love...

I wanted to paint
A water color picture of us
I wanted to capture
The curves of your lips
And the swirls of colors
As they melted with mine
And I wanted to illustrate
The marks from your fingertips
Tracing constellations across my hips
And I thought I could draw
The way to relinquished
Emptiness trapped inside of me

But I was painting a picture
with colors that didn't exist

I have this amputated vision of beauty
I feel I am supposed to be
A specific set of criteria
I am expected to meet:
Shaped perfectly
Delicate and light
Designed and idealized
Like a crystal champagne glass.

Gripped with only *******
And a pinky erectly raised
To signify elegance
An object with little weight.

People would want me;
They would press their lips
Against my rim
Taking a sip
Taking me in.

They would tilt their head back
Scoff and laugh
Gabbing about the day they had
Conversations over choosing paint swatches
“Lemon or cornsilk, the choice is too difficult."
God forbid they pick plain yellow.

Flashing fake teeth
Giving compliments they don’t mean
Over 30 and still gossiping.

Is that who I am?
Is that who I really want to be?
This idea of a human
Consumed with aesthetic beauty
A mere champagne glass
But made out of plastic.

I am not a champagne glass
I am in a different class.

I am a hand painted mug
Born in a ceramic painting store
Surrounded by various pottery
Cups, plates, figurines, galore.
In walks a girl with the desire to create
Make something beautiful
To love and adore.

Everything she is
Was placed into that mug
Favorite designs
Her inability to stay within the lines.
But these
Little intricacies  
Is what gives her beauty.

Perfect isn’t relatable
In fact, it’s unattainable.

I am a mug
Cold and heat tolerant
I can be roughly handled
Won’t break from a drop
Off a counter top.
Ask that of a champagne glass
Watch a breeze,
Have it fall to it’s knees
And shatter into pieces.

Thin
Breakable
And only seen
Under the hand of another’s command.
Put back when finished
Into my showcase
Until the next holiday
With only one purpose:
To be used for looks.

I am a mug
Not societies type
But does that make me ugly?
Say that to the little girl
Look in her eye
Watch her cry
Tell it to her face
Bring her to shame.

Why do we talk to each other this way?
We need acceptance
Not lessons
On how to have the best this and that.

I am not a champagne glass
So am I automatically fat?

Tell that to the little girl
Strip her of innocent purity
Give her insecurities
Distorted imageries
Of who she should be.

My mother believes
Her perception is the exception
“Be a lady”
“Be dainty”
“That dress isn’t very flattering”
“Do you hear me, Lauren Marie?”

I hear you mother
And all your opinions
But I am not open
To accepting any of them.

You love me entirely
But your words bully me
Like bullet in my chest
It’s hard to walk away
Feeling anything but less.
You’re in denial
Because you treat me like a child
I will never be
“Little Miss Perfect Lauren Marie”

I don’t want to be a champagne glass
Because I don’t drink
I’m not one for wine
I'd rather have tea.

Grab a mug, please mommy
We can cuddle together
And I’ll read my poetry.
But I see
You’re still reaching
For that crystal glass in me.

We own a kettle
One day you’ll want tea.