Your skin is kindling
and I am on fire. Burning,
hands outstretched in the white-hot
heat of the flames, palms up.
Beseeching, like my mother when she says
whatever but means I do not understand you.
Palms up. It is not a request but an admittance,
a compromise. She will never really know
me, a confused daughter standing still
in a bi-pass, straight passing bi. Cars passing
in sets of paired tires. I count them, take note
of matching treads and wonder where my other
half rides, if my mother would mind a tire
from the same brand, with all the same parts.

Your skin is a wildfire. I let it rage,
thinking that if this is a death sentence
and your hands exposed wire, electric
on my skin, I’d gladly take the chair. Sit
down; let me touch you, suffocate
in the carbon dioxide you expel. Let this not
be a dream. I have been asphyxiated for so long
in dreams my mother had. I was to be wed
to a nice man, to have the children she lost.
Create new souls to take root in the lifeless
plots of her prime. I think that this moment –
me, throwing myself on you, pyred
like a Salem Witch, would disappoint her.

She would love you if you were a man,
or at least if you could ease me into complacency.
If you had put me in that box that she or society
or guilt has built me, that casket-like thing
moving down the river like a Moses myth,
she might love us both. She would love me,
I hope, if she knew I have wanted men
the way I want you; singed and parched.
Palms up: an appeal to my senses. I’ve come out
of them already, and I am holding your hand,
on fire. Palms up: my counter-appeal. I become
Joan of Arc. She knew herself; she, at least, didn’t beg
to be heard in her final moments. She became
silent ashes and trusted her God. He would love her
even as every back she’d ever loved turned away.

My first life lasted long enough
A wife I loved and children real stuff
The war changed everything
Family dead except for my son
where was he when we won?
Forget it all

My second life a depressed teen
Counselors fail to make me clean
Phonographs and tapes
The start of my new life
Why do I keep thinking of my wife?
Forget it all

Third life wasn't strong
Discrimination with my hair long
Women disguises aren't the best in 1900's
This goes with my fourth and fifth
I really wish this was a myth
Forget it all

Sixth was really fun
Did some drugs and went to clubs
Became a show host
They all found out
They started to shout
Forget it all

Aute Lun didn't go to heaven
Nothing phased number seven
His life did not last

Number eight was burned to the steak
That hurt I needed a break

Poor sweet number nine
His bills made him commit
Suicide

Ten and Eleven
Nearly became convicted felons
But they got too sick to even try
Forget it all
All these lives
Do they matter?
Just forget...

Number 12 was one of the longest
A guy by the name of Alex Coneales
I was finally myself again
I made a friend or two
They help me through
They never know

Wilson Maxwell a friend with laughs
He found my tapes, my phonographs
We exchange our secrets
He says he'll help me no matter what
He knows too much so I keep shut
I'M SCARED
FORGET IT ALL

They preach about pride
“Pride is a sin!”
People nod obediently
“Two men kissing is a sin!”
A few more obedient nods

WHAT ARE WE?
Slaves? Do we obey all the things
That a silly old book says
To get to a place most probably
Will never see
Since they’ve committed just one
ONE SIN?

Two men kissing
Sounds harmless as a butterfly
Two girls kissing
Sweet as sugar

It’s fine to be yourself
Boy, girl, both or none
It’s accepted in the animal kingdom
Why not the human one?
Are you scared of a book?
A book that controls how you act
How you talk, speak, pray?

Have pride everyone!
Have pride in yourself!
Who you are!
Who you want to be!
BECAUSE SOMEONE
SOMEONE IN THIS BEAUTIFUL
GREEN/BLUE PLANET
WILL LOVE YOU FOR IT!

it’s a vagabond heart

roaming, sticky-tongued through

valleys of boys and girls:

all can be bled for, just take up the sword yourself.


i’m a

traveling postage stamp scar collection

turned love story

I always expected more
than what I could ever get.
I woke up and smiled;
convinced; this is home.
This is it. All I ever wanted
and needed in this world,
here in this tiny space.
I can't remember when
I last did something
great. Meaningful.
Something you could be
proud of. Smiles and Pleas.
Like the sound of the bird outside
my window; fluttering like
a flag in the wind.
One gust could set her sail.
Set her free.
One slice of the knife sends the
carrot top rolling off the board;
onto the floor. Knock, Knock,
Knocking in panic on
the bathroom door.
One pull of the trigger
and I'll be asleep.
Far away from me...
Or rather...who I became in the end.

To all it may concern: straight people

Dear straight parents,
Thank you,
For making us gays,
And then making us feel like **** for being created,
But hey, you created us.

Dear straight people,
Shut your **** mouth.
We don't care.
Your words aren't going to change us,
No protest signs are gonna change us,
Only God can,
And that isn't an excuse to try and pray the gay away.

Dear straight men,
If a girl likes another girl,
They are not your ****** play toy.
Remove those perverted thoughts from your head,
And learn to control your *****.

Dear straight men,
If a boy likes another boy,
And they don't like you,
Then keep your mouth shut.
If you don't like it,
Then don't be gay.
It doesn't concern you,
And it's none of your ******* business.

Dear straight women,
Just because a girl likes another girl,
Does not make her a ****,
Or a *****,
Or a *****,
But who knows she may be.
But since you're making assumptions like that,
You're probably one of the before mentioned.

Dear straight women,
Ahem "straight",
Go away.
Quit flirting with us,
Because it's annoying and confusing.
Figure out what you want
And try again later.

Dear straight ally's,
Thank you.
You need to procreate,
And make more of you,
Because the world seems to be full of
*******
And biggots.

Dear straight people,
You don't have to like us,
But hating us,
And bashing us,
Isn't gonna make us suddenly go away,
Or quit being gay.
Go back to your prayers that the gays will come to realize if you want,
But I think there are bigger problems in the world
That you need to be concerned with
More than a girl liking *****.

Sincerely,
One who is both a straight and a gay.

I'm lesbian so what
I'm gay so what
I'm bisexual so what
I'm ******* transgender so what
At least i know who the **** I am
I'm pansexual so what
I'm ******* me
I'm myself
If you don't like it
I love it
If you don't care
I cherish it forever
If you hate me
I love you
I'm LGBT
Who the **** are you
Hahaha

I see you, rabbit,
sitting in the grass, breathing
hard. afraid.
I see how you shake,
it's cold in winter.
freezing. I begin
to run, the feeling of
power and powerlessness
takes over. Why can't I
stop? What is wrong with
me? I pounce, landing.
thud. You cry. I stare, my
body heavy on yours. Your cries
loud. Sharp to my ears. I could curse at
the stars for making me this
way. The instinct screams in
my head; **** IT **** IT.
Instead I watch as you try to run.
Blood. White snow. Enticing.
I want to cuddle. I want to love. I want
to eat. I have a warmth you have been
looking for, Rabbit. Come closer,
Rabbit. Why aren't you crying,
Rabbit?
Rabbit?