He sits next to you on the train.
Your heart flushes as he smiles your way.
There's something about him that draws you in,
maybe it's his dreamy hair,
that seems to shine in the morning sun,
or maybe it's the book he was reading,
or maybe it was his hollow eyes,
the ones with the rings under them that makes him
look like he's three weeks past bedtime.
His four patches on his blue, denim jacket,
each with sassy comments on them, stating his hatred for Trump,
or his place as a Feminist?

The colourless rainbow tattoo on his wrist,
next to a heart.

It has her name on it.
And you sit and wonder...

Am I her?

You aren't.

You're not his tattoo,
the one that sits on his wrist.
A name that is passed carelessly throughout the carriages,
The name that stops at the platform.

You are a gentle thought,
unravelled in the minds of others,
growing and nurturing,
exuberating kindness as you do so.

You are not his tattoo,
but a garden,
soon to flourish and grow stronger,
toughening through harsh winters.

You are not his.

You are an evergreen mass,
you were born to live
and you thrive as you do so.

your forehead against mine
the delicious chocolate color of your eyes,
intensely looking into mine.

my palms are sweaty
they move to your waist.

your arms around my neck,
they pull me closer.
your hot breath spills onto my lips making me shiver.
i swallow my nerves.
time seems to pass so slow
you lean in and press your lips to mine
your lips soft and plump
my heart is racing
it all comes crashing down again when you pull away,
almost as if you’ve ****** the life out of me and i cannot catch my breath.
you giggled and ran off into his arms,
down another glass of whatever intoxicated you.

that was the first time I tasted your lips
as soon as I experienced it, I never did again.
your love for me stopped where anyone else was around,
my love for you lives on everywhere we’ve been.

There was a boy
I had never seen cry,
but every time someone mentioned home...
his voice began to waver,
and his eyes,
Well,
his eyes...
they misted...

I can't concentrate because of your words,
the ones I can't help but listen too.
You say people are selfish
for loving two kinds of people, not one.
You say that it's confusing,
to like both sexes the same.

Like we need you to understand,
like we need your permission to like who we want to like

I never asked you at all.

I don't regret it
Being with you
My first best friend
My first girl crush
Well that's a lie
The first girl crush
I allowed myself
To acknowledge
Was you.
You scared me more
Than anyone before you
I lived on edge for months  
I don't regret the
Music we shared
And the times
We cried
And the times we
Laughed
And the times when I was too scared to sleep because I thought I'd wake up to you having gone.
I don't regret loving you
Even though it hurts
Now
And I hope you know
That I still care.
I will always care
I think.

Closet Monster hides with shoes
Under jackets
Next to dresses
Twiddling thumbs and waiting
With a patience I am both scared and proud of.
"When?"
"Soon."
Close the door, take a breath, open eyes, relax.
The closet monster has your back, the closet monster knows how hard it is.
It waits and waits and when it's freed, the joy is unreachable.

Into the mirror I whisper
Grinning with the joy I sing  
The quiet reassurance
That nothing else can bring.

I grin because today
I look the part I play
I could pass as queer, I think
Just passably "a gay".

I smile and straighten my shoulders
(The only thing that's straight)
I let myself relax and smile
I think I was worth the wait.