You’ve heard them say it countless times
Put on make-up to be “beautiful”
You’re a lady
Stand up straight
“Don’t wear skirts or tank tops”
Or the boys will get distracted
“Don’t eat too much” but
Confine yourself to the media’s
Version of what a woman
SHOULD be
Don’t be confident in yourself
And walk with your head low
“You’re not special
You’re like everyone else I know”
Don’t cut your hair too short
“Do you wanna be a boy?!”

Or maybe you have heard the other
Put on a fake smile
As you go about your day
Sadness is Weakness
And crying makes you less of a man
Don’t wear “girly” colors
Or you are “too feminine”
Refusing risks
Makes you a wimp

“Be a man”
They say
But what does that even mean
Don’t do things you love
But force yourself to
Throw on that jersey
How dare you want to
Pursue your dreams

Women can’t do this
Men can’t do that
All wrapped up in bubble wrap
Loving yourself?
What’s that?
Change yourself in ways
That deem YOU “perfect”
In the eyes of the world

But what does that word even mean?
Is a bird less perfect if it loses a feather?
Or a lizard less of a reptile when it sheds its skin?
The beach less of a beach when the tide roles in?
NO

I watch the world around me
Boys and girls of all ages
Being conformed to their gender roles
Hunted like the prey of a lion
Society stalking their every move
Making sure nothing is out of place

Who cares what the world thinks is “Perfect”
The absent minds of the world around us
Cannot be changed
Normal to you is not normal to them
Being “weird” is better than being generic
You are beautiful just the way YOU are
You are beautiful
You are perfect
You are…
YOU!

When he’s standing in your doorway
Clean-shaven, distanced,
Recognize that once he was
Scouring the cracks in the blacktop,
Picking pansies with the weeds
And clumping them together to declare
The love letters he had written along the sidewalks,
Blue chalk sprawling beside her walk home.

And one day he was standing before her desk,
A medley of a bouquet lodged under his fingernails,
That he took to be the most beautiful piece of art.
Lips slightly chapped, chest rising quickly,
In a moment of unadulterated courage he ****** his arms forward
To present the best offering he could.
And all she saw was the dirt.

sometimes I wonder how you would see yourself if you had my eyes.

would you see the delicate man I see,
the one that when he smiles, melts away all my pain.

would you see the strong man I see,
the one that puts others before himself.

would you see the brave man I see,
the one that faces adversity with a full grin.

would you see the girl I am,
the girl who you love.

would you see me,
and how I love you in ways words cannot explain.

beginning:

playing football
in the communal
playground
pitched between
mountains of concrete
brown brick office blocks
blockaded high street shops
council housing kingdoms.

memory;

taking potshots at metal
goalposts slicked with
the rain and scabbed spray paint
till the olders kick us aside
basketballs in hand
for freethrows from the poverty line.

unlearning;

to think
love like marble
too cold and rich to touch
in fear that it’d turn out to be *****
like two boys
looking at each other for too long
can leave stains no amount of febreze can air out.

end;

i still can’t sleep in your arms
but you never stop searching for me
in yours
all there is left to do
is let
myself be found.

I am an Angel

I am a dog wide eyed

     panting at the window
I am an Angel cast down
    
I am a bird with a seed in my beak

        pecking at the rough bark

I am an Angel with only 2 eyes now

     I am a fish in search of water
        all shoulders moving fins through the shallows
I am an Angel with un-grown wings

     I am a pig shivering 

           flies from my bristly back

I am the sky and all those who fly in it

I am the earth and when I shake

     I am the magma moving

           pushing up

I am the sea and when I swim

     Whole continents are washed away.


I am an Angel and cannot help but be

the better part of last-minute
and i spend it staring at your lips;
the poems spill out of your mouth
and stain my hand-me-down rug;
as if our brokenness is compatible,
my masochism needs company
and you are eager to disappoint.
the tongues and whispers of secrets
in a cyclical nature; i have been here before.
the familiarity the fear the focus:
the fallacy of finding love in an empty heart.