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D Apr 3
This shell wasn’t meant to open,
Not when the tepid world could never
See the beauty within the calm of lilac,
The serene scent of stargazers,
Or symmetric patterns of hydrangeas

Invisible, walking among
Miserable, unable to remain strong
Malleable to conformist reform,
Toe the line - chanting “one of us!”

Lies told in mirrors
While the mirrors reflect truth,
Yearning for you to see beauty in -
Vivid viola, Cherry blossoms, or blue forget-me-nots.
Longing for you to see me.

And when I took the chance,
Hatched from this husk,
Let the real explore like a settler
Claiming myself one among an adoptive tribe
I knew the doors to your imaginary kingdom would close,

Now, I’m just one of those
No longer worthy of accolade,
Not receiving past praise
Of blazed trails of those I’ve laid
Endowment blessed,
Heart is an open hotel to rest your head
Vacated and yellow taped
Murdered because I dared to show you

Beauty in nightshade, pink rose, and iris
Neon pink, UV purple, and Cold cathode blue
My compass was never broken; it always rang true
It’s just led me through detours to journey here

And I must ask,
Blunt as I could make it.
Until you're unable to turn away
And left to face this,

Truly,
Dearly,

Is it because I’m Bi?
Well, is it?
Scarlet McCall Apr 2024
In the middle of the journey of your life
you had wandered from the straight path.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
and you took both of them.
You broke on through to the other side
but came back stateside pretty often.
Being lied about, you stopped lying.
From men and women you could sometimes require
the lineaments of gratified desire.
Clouds may wander, lonely,
but you’re pretty good at finding company.
Being well-read allows me to be lazy.
LUSTFORLIFE May 2020
Why do you care so much are you gay?
A question I remember often being asked.
How illogical it is to assume your child
will be anything other than straight,
to be raised on the belief that other
was either a phase or a sin.
Maybe I just care about people as human beings -
or maybe there was something more to it.
How wrong it felt to push my sexuality in a corner
and pretend it did not exist.

Once I pushed past that,
the feeling was surreal.
Finally embracing your true self
is a feeling you never forget.
I did not choose this;
To fall in love with words, personalities, feelings,
never confined to gender,
but I have accepted it.
That is what is most liberating.
I feel free.
~ I.M
vonny Apr 2020
i was only taught one way

walking a straight line

the dance felt right but only halfway

i never understood why

hiding in repulsion

at what i might be

i didn't want to walk in circles

i preferred my simple dance

ignoring my feelings came rather sudden

i didn't understand at all

trying different sorts of line dances

somehow didnt feel right

i found one right in the middle

didn't join until now

full of shame at how depraved i was

for me to want to be in a different dance

would all my friends be in question

would my parents look at me in withering disappointment

too late

i stepped in
i wrote this about my bisexuality and never feeling like i fit in.
Eva B Apr 2020
In the mirror
the hickey looks like
lipstick. When I rub
my neck
her teeth stay
stuck like kissy lips
on mirrors
of girly girls.
On the surface
the blue-blood egret
and his
white-toothed egret
friend look like
enemies.
They share the lake’s
surface like comrades splitting a spliff
during war.
The mirror’s surface
reflects my haggard
face.
The kiss on my neck brings me pleasure
that is difficult to peck in the eddy formed after she swelled along my desire.

In the mirror:    
his naked body
my naked body
like the cartilages
of comrades marching back
to their bombed base.
That night he finished quiet like the veteran
egret pecking his prey.
That night I spread––
the eddy after the prey was pecked. On my surface I can’t find any traces
of his breath or his pecks. The mirror’s surface reflects our haggard love––
tired of slithering away
from egret beaks
finding it difficult
to breathe
lifting its long neck
above the swell
in the eddy
in this sea.
Jude Quinn Jun 2019
Blood of a poet dripping from me.
*** and magic feeding my dreams.

I used to write poems for lovers,
Now I write poems for love.

Life is written in verse;
every line has its rhyming pair.

From chaos comes chaos,
Heartbeat brings heartbeat.

There's no heart or soul that's truly alone,
There's an incomplete poem,

And every poem finds its ending,
it doesn't matter if it's masculine or feminine.

A line, a rhyme.
You'd be surprised by what you rhyme with.
Leigh Mar 2019
her
how does one go about expressing their love to a girl?
I've never felt like this about a girl, before
but everything - my heart, pounding and vulnerable and so impossibly fragile - now seems to depend on
her.
her laughter is like the colour yellow
and it turns my vision hazy every time
the expression she wears is innocent and unassuming
but those hazel eyes are white-hot fire
she's got this rosewood hair that floats around her, ethereal,
her hands are gentle, delicate
her heart is so full of love
her arms, filled with kidness
she turns the blood in my veins to crackling flames.
look at her mouth.
what can I say. how can I vocalize this kind of want. this kind of hunger.



I'd never tell. no, I'd never say a word.
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