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Em May 25
i feel like im playing an intense game
of mental tennis
in my mind
i serve
"i think i might be a lesbian"
the ball comes hurling back twice as hard
i didnt expect it
"you cant be a lesb*an, your family would completely reject you"
i miss
15 love
they serve
"youve had crushes on boys before"
I hit
"but i only liked the boy i made up in my mind, he was a silhouette of a boy who had feminine qualities"
they hit back
"you have to like boys. its whats right"
30 love
I forfeit
inner dialogue
India Mar 18
in his limbs i find penance

when he pins me down
                                                     its my mothers hands around my throat
begging
                 for sounds i won’t make
                                                                 praying
                                                                ­                     to be allowed silence  
when we join i know
                                         i hate him  
after we part
                                                              i hate myself

                            solace in the steamed bathroom mirror
                                    hiding the sin from the sinner  
the
        salt
                   of
                          his
                                   pleasure
the
        salt
                   of
                          my
                                   pain
                                                                      washed off together as though
equal

                                                        but

her limbs are absolution  
                                                    ­                                 seek and ye shall find
i am forgiven between her thighs
                                                                               on earth as it is in heaven
the prayer on my tongue meets god
                                                                ­                                                                 ­                                                                her gasp Amen
18/03/22
When my mom first thought that I was gay,
She and my father sat me down at the kitchen table.

I was fifteen and thought I was in love,
And all they could do was scream at me...

‘You’re a sin; what you feel isn’t natural.’
‘Where did we go wrong?’

And all I had wanted was to love in peace.
But apparently, that was too much to ask from them.

So I stifled myself.

I cut myself off from her and let us wither
Until there was nothing left of us because
I wasn't normal
And I was fifteen
And all I wanted was my mother’s approval
And how could I gain that if I wasn’t normal?

And then I was sixteen and I thought I was in love again
But this time with a seventeen-year-old boy
That knew nothing of love
And everything of sharp edges and even sharper words
But he spoke so pretty to me,
And how could I resist?

But he hurt me worse than anyone else that I’ve known
And he never even cared…

And then I was seventeen.

I was seventeen and my best friend had this mane
Of beautiful hair and I called her lovely and wife
And all the other silly little pet names that high school girls do
But little did she know that her smile
Lit fireworks inside my brain and the swarms of
Butterflies that beat in my chest rivalled that of a drum.

I thought she was beautiful.
I saw the universe in her.

But how could I admit that to myself without admitting it to
My mother, the one person whose validation I crave like
Air and water and life itself?

How could I admit to her that I wasn’t
Her little girl anymore?
That I was a disappointment?

And then I was eighteen.

I was eighteen and numb and not looking for anything when he found me...
I was eighteen and I thought that surely,
Surely
This was it, this was the feeling that I was waiting for.

But it wasn’t and I was eighteen and alone again
But this hurt worse than the others and then I was gone after that summer.

Now, I’m almost nineteen.

I’m almost nineteen and I’ve accepted the fact that
I will disappoint my mother;
The one whose opinion that I value the most;
The one that gave birth to me;
The only one that can tear me down until I feel like nothing.

But she’s my mother so how could I let her go
When she was there for my first word and my first steps
And every one of my other firsts.

My first date.

My first dance.

My first breakup.

She was there when I left for college, and she’ll be there when (if)
I get married.

Because regardless of my choices,
She loves me, and she always will.

And even if I can’t bring my partner home,
I will love her all the same.

So mom, if you see this,
I’m sorry.

I’m sorry that I didn’t turn out how you wanted.
I’m sorry that I disappointed you.

But I’m not sorry for being who I am.

I’m not sorry for thinking women are beautiful
And men are handsome
Because all the world needs is a little bit more love,
And who am I to deprive it of that?
An apology to my mother, who may or may not see this...
s y kalindara Nov 2021
A string of unrequited loves
invade my mind amid restless sleep,
four AM dreams under starless skies occupied by
pretty schoolgirls with rosy cheeks.
Seven years flowed under the bridge,
yet one of the many unspoken faces stands out
uncloaked in the mist of corridors and the early stir
of shuffling feet and uniform skirts,
my breath catches in my throat as I think of her.

I think back to our interlacement inside those four solid walls,
how I had met you through gossiping whispers and scribbles on bathroom stalls,
our paths had crossed in late winters and spring,
but those summer conversations changed everything.

By now the details are coated in dust,
but I remember the shifting air around us
wrapping me in enchantment,
and I knew I hadn't known euphoria
until I'd tasted my name on your tongue,
and I've only ever been sober
but the sound of your voice could get me drunk.

You wore a shell unlike whatever held your notoriety
and I never saw it coming, like an English storm brewing,
getting caught in the middle of it all until
it became this game of counting midnights, pacing, waiting
for the day our fingerprints stamped the same staircase railing.

I'll bet my eyes that your deathless beauty is just as haunting
as it was when I looked up at your raven hair against jasmine skin
and eyes rimmed with shadows that got me thinking
how close can our skin skim before it gets too intimate?

Transposed to a time when
what made me float the most
were your glances,
brushing hands and
hugs between classes,
and all your excuses
for patching my bruises,
to wiping blue paint off the curves of your face
and suppressing the urge
to crop the space
between our flustered breaths and parting lips,
I'd still give anything to have that kiss.

These days, I recite your letters to my bedroom ceiling at every turn
and they echo back to me in harmonies, as sacred as scripture.
How do lost words in stale, stained ink still make me yearn, crash and burn
until I'm screaming to the sea before me that you slipped through my fingers?

In retrospect, I think it's fair if I called it love
and that's something I won't apologise for.
Perhaps someday, I could stand up with a hurdling heartbeat and tell you
that I loved you the way Emily loved Sue
in glistening pink, purple and blue.


Copyright © 2021 by S. Y. Kalindara. All rights reserved.
Apparently the major crush I had on this girl I knew back in highschool wasn't a phase. I'm bisexual, which isn't as hard to admit now, but it was back then. I was 14/15/16 & growing up in a really religious & homophobic region & all these thoughts I had, felt so shameful to me. I'll still never admit them to her even though I think she felt the same way, it still feels way too risky to say. And my sexuality is something I keep hidden when I'm back home but I feel comfortable sharing it online & in poems, so thank you for reading this if you've gotten this far. **


(P.S. you can follow me on instagram, if you'd like to @sykmusings ♡)
MPB Oct 2021
He is adorable,
special,
handsome,
& kind.

Who would have
known that he
is rare to
find?

If being wildly
in love was
not quite right,
then I would
rather lose sight.

But, nonetheless, he
is better than
the flitting rest.

What if I
told you that
“he” was not
really a “he”?

But a cisgender
“she” with a
well-developed chest.

And no, I
love her more
than her looks,
for loving someone
the same ***
as you is
not any different
from someone the
opposite.

My heart is
what she took,
unconditionally pat.

She is adorable,
special,
beautiful,
& kind.

Please do not
remind me that
she is anything
less than that.


M. 10/26/21 @ 9:50 a.m.
✨😍✨
Dani Simpson Oct 2021
“Would you excuse me just a moment while I slip on something less comfortable?” I ask her as I pull a harness up around my legs and waist. A purple silicon ***** sits tall above my ****** as I finish tightening the straps.

“Let me just apply a big squeeze of cold ****…” I say to myself as unsolicited *****’ I’ve seen on Pornhub flood into my mind’s eye.

“Like this,” they hiss to me.
Like she is a ***** with a mind unfortunately attached…
I slip into her with my large purple ***** and she moans, just like on the videos.
“Pull her hair, smack her ***- praise it even,” while ignoring the beauty of her *****.

Mind, soul, movements, revolutions, societies and culture all sprout from *****.

“No, no disregard that… make her a slave to your dominance. Yes, it may be false but as long as you have mouth to **** or a hole to ******* too can imagine the pleasure of  ******* just to assert your own dominance!”

An unnatural silicon mold of a *****… proudly ***** above
My *****.
The source of humanity
Lies just below the surface of my skin
A sacred womb.

I place an unholy appendage above it and derive my power from that…
Anne Sep 2021
My summer haze.
You exist
as salted scrunchies,
Freckled thighs,
Whiskey tongue.
You exist,
Right?

By Fall,
I know it to be true.
My autumn girl.
I look into her
tasting wet leaves,
pine and cinnamon.
Her body still
hot as August sun.

Fireplace feet,
wobbly knees under fleece.
Suddenly,
you are Christmas wine,
Snowflake tears.
Teeth never clattered,
Hands never cold.

I can’t see spring.
Perhaps that’s where it ends.
Maybe it never was.
Still,
I dream of you
And still,
I wonder
if you dream too.
may 9 2020
TIZZOP Aug 2021
splinter of existence creepin' thru skin
when judgement day is scarin' ya guys
temples beatin' 888 beats per minute
as dreams of shelter be passin' by

remember merciless bob, the hyena?
used to shoot bullets like rashid stoogie
always mind da project's family tree, b
watts to frankfurt via lima, diz how we be

brothaz, almans, multihood, escalade in chrome
osmans *** some, naber abi, bana parayi ver
you won't survive the massacre of greed
palms grow inside frankfurt's wildlife

GBS, TPB, LA MINA, HOLZI, NORDI, BOKI
dey be too fierce for dem knocko boys
no jammin', silver colts in montenegro
special forces, dejan, heroine, grenades

choki predicted da richness, we be floatin'
ari goldman tower, sandstone, platinum coke
yugos, habibis, moruks, almans, pashto
marokks, habeshas, albans and kurds

man bites dog, anti-traitor, snares
lacerated cable, flashdeath in red and blue
palermo, cosa nostra, secret shipment
da antagonist be chained 'gainst ya brain, bro

we tear up pavements since we rule da planet
massacres, new age, 36ers, crenshaw, headrush
day of vendetta bros, senait forgot how to *** back
street dust be what ya smellin' in da projectz

bent body, similar to deceased city doves
her soul be glintin' among da 5-0 sirens
large scale operation, silverblack corpses
black dots in front of ya eyes, sista

harlem river houses, homeshadows, dough
the ghetto raises fierce and bloodthirsty men
2 for 60, flip it into 90 and mind the cut, kwame
ya peeps gotta eat, and don't forget youse momz

let's build towers from all dem stacks, luv bellywood
our camouflage be immaculate like 90% pure
rides on champagne in times of evil blood
we light up the night and rightfully keep turf

our home be 36 souls away, slums and the hamptons
in the kitchen, da fiend's addiction is boiling
e guitar sounds, we overrun ya people
and don't ya fear jail, we reign institutionz
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