She was a wilting flower,
Delicately fading
Into the depth of her sorrow.

Her eyes-pooled gossamer stars
Falling from constellation webs.
Bouncing on the tile before losing shape
In the atmosphere.

My soul was swallowed into
Her sorrow,
And stayed there.

And when I held her,
It was like trying to hold on to refracting light.

We listen to the same murmur of;
the chanting of an honest city skyline,
echoes of a symphony on balcony roofs.

Pearlescent eyes,
yearning for a ripened peck upon
the curving of plum lips
an infectious smile, light reflecting
off the lunar eclipse--
Curve of your back arched into
the half of you, that makes me whole.

Fiery embers,
muted colors,
that spark into pinks and red
in a moment of present energy.

Could the journey be embarked?
To search for the one that loves me,
what realm did you come from,
& how does one begin to find you?


An elixir made from lilac,
can be smelt upon her breath-
dandelion wisps of hair,
tucked behind her ear—
so honest, so fair.

Precious lotus petal,
that lives,
intoxicate me with your lips--
belonging to rose water,
I've heard your stories of selflessness,
with so much to give you-

& admire the heroic ways you've written yourself
out of every fable,
to become the moral.

Adoration has grasped the ability to carve these bones,
into a monument;

I've a ribcage with room for the both of us,
lay upon my chest,
sleep safely,
dream blissfully,
& love unapologetically

Sometimes I swear my mother is colorblind
The other day she said, “Darling, if you were gay, I think I’d know”
Well Mom, there’s a rainbow inside me but you see straight through it
I’m a prism in your hands but you refuse to hold me in the light
Mom, I’m bi
But she won’t understand that
In fact, she doesn’t understand anything
She doesn’t get ADD, or anxiety, or bisexuality
She can’t comprehend my depression, my aggression, my emotional recession
She complains that I don’t open up enough, but when I explain, she is the one that’s closed
What more can I say
Why does it take a panic attack to realize I’m not okay?
The other day when I told her “Sometimes I wish I didn’t exist”
She looked at me as if she was seeing a new color for the first time and she just couldn’t put a name to it
Can I really blame her for it?
All she has known is black and white and I’m showing her a light she’s never seen in her life
She sees a band-aid in her hand while I see a knife
I want to say everything that’s on my mind, but Mother, I’m afraid that you’ll lecture instead of advise
Instead of comfort
So I keep adding to these lies
And apologize
The other day you asked while I was crying, “Are you suicidal?”
And it broke through my heart like a wrecking ball through a brick building:
Loud in my ears, heavy in my chest, and smoky in my lungs
Because for the first time you felt the heat of my fire that you should have felt years ago
You only see a dull hue, but that’s a start for you
You’re finally seeing me, but you’re not going very deep
There’s so much within this glass skin of mine
I’m trying to shine but you cloak me in darkness in an effort to keep me warm
But I’m lightning in a bottle and I can’t control this storm
Soon I’m going to explode and you won’t know what hit you
The other day I wasn’t okay
And I’m still not today
I’m fighting my way through every minute, every second
So while I look like I’m getting better, I’m slowly deteriorating from the inside out
I just want to love who I love without being judged
Be who I am and know you’ll understand
I’m so tired of trying to conceal my lightning out of fear that I might strike you
But maybe my electricity is just what you need to wake up
Every day, I set my alarm clock for 7, 7:05, 7:10, because I just can’t seem to get out of bed
Sleeping is the only way to calm the voices in my head
But my antidote is her poison
You only see it as healing if you’re the one that heals me
You’re holding out that band-aid but I’m running from a knife
When I was little, I wrote left handed
But you made me switch to my right
Well Mom, did you know that lefties are more likely to be artistic, have insomnia, be disabled mentally, have ADD, and be bisexual…

The little life now grew
and all things thought to him
Of things old and things new
the norms and laws laid on him

And long before they know
the little man on his teens
In school and wherever he'd go
his friend and him like wearing same skins

The boy now has feelings inside
of which his parents lack guide
The feeling towards another lad
of butterflies in the stomach he had

Of his pink lips he keeps staring
of the way his eyes can captivate
Of his gentle giggles when laughing
and his smiles all problem alleviate

Of his contoured body figure
chiseled like a statue in park
Temptations he can't endure
it makes his heart spark

Then nobody surely knew
that the boy whom they gave birth to
Had grown and began anew
of his life and his secret TABOO

To some it’s all conjectural,
Philosophically conceptual.
You think you’re intellectual
But your reasoning is ineffectual.
Reviled both by heterosexuals
Insulted as well by homosexuals
And some ugly issues contractual
We are the besmirched bisexuals.

While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.

The straights tell us we must decide
Then put the other gender aside.
The complaints range far and wide
Even gay people opt to deride.
We don’t feel welcomed anywhere inside.
Why doesn’t tolerance coincide
When nobody seems to take our side?
It’s freedom, get on the bus and ride.

While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.

We know, after years of research
Gender choice is not learned in church.
It can be shaped with rods of birch
But those are better for birds to perch.
Denying us freedom is an ugly lurch
Past including truth in a morality search.
Back to when we were ruled by a church
And any variance was besmirched.

While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.

As a bisexual, I fear
Few will want you to be proud.
They will bend your ear
Saying things to you out loud
That would be better left
Totally, embarrassingly unsaid
Instead of rattling around
Inside the cathedral of your head.

Too many try to make it
Seem like a kind of venal crime
To want to make love with
Someone of your own kind
And maybe with the same
Gender with which you were born.
To some it is very biblical
And subjects you to public scorn.

Finding someone ****
With the same plumbing as you
It not only delightful
It can be a dream come true.
It feels correctly natural
And works like the other way
Even though people scorn
And use words like ‘***’ and ‘gay’
Or ‘******’ and even taco
Whatever that might end up meaning.
The important thing to me
Bisexuality is so powerfully appealing.

So, those who dislike me
And feel so righteously zealous
That bisexuality is wrong
Are very possibly just jealous.
Or maybe just uptight
Living by someone’s else’s rules;
Not what they’ve learned
And therefore are bigoted fools.

That thing she did. It was so innocuous, so accidental, so minor, yet it awakened you. It consumes your headspace. Follows you through hours and days. Makes appearances in your dreams, kissing the edges of your mind. Because of it, you know what it feels like to want someone so much you grow a second heart. Such a gesture should be easily forgotten, but you can’t forget the belly-rolling starburst of it, the oh. That thing she did, it told you who you are. In one split-second act. It grabbed you by the collar, looked you in the eye, and said her. It’s her. Are you brave enough to listen?

2. You want to feign your own fall just so she will lean over you, blocking the sky, beautiful and concentrated. So she will hold your wrist and feel for your rabbit pulse. So you can blink up at her with an excuse for not looking away.

3. She’s sitting there sketching a tree in the margin of her notebook, and she is a miracle. You would die for her. The thought startles you. You want to kiss her, want it savagely, which startles you, too. Your hands stay balled in your lap, half-clenched and trembling.

4. You move and it’s just enough to push the two of you together. Which is, god, the best thing you have ever felt. She draws her eyes toward you with the soft look that takes you out every time. Her arm is pressing yours, solid and warm. You flush and can’t understand why, but you should. That blush knows everything you haven’t yet figured out.

5. You watch her when she leaves, always. You can’t help it. She’s furiously lovely, so much your chest is sore at the sight of her. She hurts you, this girl. She moves you.

The straight life is easy
I had a little try
But soon I realised that for me it feels better
To be Bi