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Presence of mind and will of self,
Are the things I shelf.

Through out the day,
I just wish I wasn't ***.

People laugh at and jeer.
They make fun of the *****.

They act *** to try and entice me.
It seems no one understands you see?

My parents are ashamed.
They act like I blasphemed

My dad yells and beats me,
Can't look at me in the eyes.

My mom just sits and cries and prays.
They're christian and hate all ****.
But i am ***** and here to stay.

I am proud of what I am.
They look at me like "****!"

Who is the *** over there?
Who's blood does the *** share?

And I hope that one day a collision of
Love one another like the vision of

"I Have A Dream" by Dr. King.
The injustice is no little thing.

I just wish it wasn't hard,
To hold my only card.

Because really I am tired,
Of telling people to be inspired.

When will it be that glorious day?
For It's hard to be a ***.
Sometimes this poems is my reality, my parents hate me, and I hate my life.
Rain is refreshing in a strange, backward way. It shocks you out of a deep, prolific lapse of participation in reality and reminds you that you’re still here. You’re still corporeal, tangible, you can feel and you can decide. But rain is still rain. It can be cold and unpleasant to be faced with, or it can be warm and welcoming. Beconing you forth to splash and smile in the reality you forgot still applied to you.
    I left behind the idea of full, around the clock consciousness during my last frigid thunderstorm. I realized, during a session already dedicated to realizations, how exhausting it was trying to live my reality to its current extent. How frustrating and soul-crushing it is to have the ambition you truly believed in and planned to embark upon, forgone by the limits of a situation you have no control over. I kept a small jar of ideas and plans in the very back corner of my closet. They were safe, they couldn’t be taken out back and shot nor could they be taunted and destroyed from the inside out. When I was cornered in my intruded closet, when I was taken by the collar and shaken for my truth, they were found. Both above-mentioned circumstances played out shortly but in the opposite order. That’s when it began to rain.
    I decided on an alternative: selective awareness. I keep myself alive only feeling and participating when the rain is tepid and pleasant. When I feel the temperature beginning to drop, I fall back asleep, floating through lull and lash, until the sun comes to change the course of my simulation. For days, all I will see is fog. I’m lost and isolated, but that lack of direction comes with an onset of contentedness. There is no one who can see me wandering through a deluded course I have set for myself. I don’t know where I’m walking, I don’t know what’s in front of me, so the warm rain will give me a pleasant surprise as it melts away the fog and gives me hope for sustainable warmth.
    The cloudiness that lingers in my head, even when I’m experiencing kindness and sensitivity, reminds me that my effort to make my reality more livable is as viable as staying completely shrouded in fog until I wander off the edge of a cliff. Eventually, as I age out of my simulation, I’ll have skin thick enough to withstand the hailstorm I’ll be forced to reckon with. Resilience is necessary, but hope exists. I often forget it does while I’m wondering, but serenity and light remind me that fog isn’t all I’ve devolved into. Rain will come, and so will spring.
Zuzanna Jan 24
I can't sleep
I'm left aching
All the time, I
See a man on the
Floor with a bullet
In his head, out cold
And dead. Mamma had
Said. He's not same man
She used to know, he is
The devil kind she goes
To church to pray for, in
Fear Beelzebub put a devil
Aside for me she cries seeing
Seeing a silhouette of a man
Who man ought to be my ghost
This is my Bohemian Rhapsody tribute.
I love the song, the movie and Queen. I
have become a big fan of the band, Freddie
will always be a star- he was, is and always
will be a star burning bright.
Bibby Jan 14
And so I poured myself
Inside my fears,
And they had no power over me
Any longer.
Officially came out as Pansexual today!
Matthew Jan 13
When I finally decided to
Tell my brother I was ***
he was about to leave
I looked at him and said
"Before you go."
He looked back at me and told me
"What?!"
And I only responded with,
"I'm ***"
And he responded exactly like I thought
"Congratulations, you're a ******"
he said to me with contempt
But I just laughed

For he no longer had any power
This is almost a verbatim recount of what happened when I came out to my brother.
v Jan 6
I am not the wife she needed.
she never need a wife.
she needs a man.
a michigan man.
a medicine man.
a mans man
a masculine mass of muscle man
a man to make more little men with.
a man who watches us make out
mouths on mouths on mouths
till he finds the courage to drag **** out of his.

the first girl I slept with told me i didn’t count.
the first girl I loved is still in the closet.
the first girl I dated has a boyfriend now.

In this man’s world
she still sips, steals, stinks with liters of whiskey.
Texts me the next morning saying i went home with two guys last night and i am still
so empty.
She hides in holes of london
Hides in fear of ****
Hides and heals in me.

My love hides in middle ground
perched like a bird on the fulcrum of a teeter totter
nested in the arms of justice between the scale.
she texts me everyday
“everything has gone to ****. I wish I wasn’t too scared to make myself happy”
Yuki Jan 2
Myself loved to play hide-and-seek.
That game went on for six years
I almost started to believe
that I lived in it.
My happiness used to hide in any place –
behind my smile most of all,
so that nobody could find my sadness
underneath it.
I’ve always had this weird cough
since I was fourteen.
I sometimes thought that
maybe,
somehow,
it was my own sadness trying
to find its way out of my mouth,
just to suicide itself on the pavement.
Tired of being in the dark
but too scared of the light.
The first time I said out loud
I was ***,
I cried so hard.
I used to think I was
ill,
dysfunctional,
twisted.
But once my father asked me:
«Who can tell what normality is?».
Today I am twenty years old and
I’m who I have always supposed to be.
Myself has grown up
it doesn’t play hide-and-seek anymore.
I am finally able to say
that the true meaning of “Pride”
is to not be ashamed
of who you are.
It’s to be thankful
for you you are
with no ifs or buts or if onlys.
It’s to look in the mirror
and see not a burden,
neither a failure.
Instead a heart and a soul
from which you find strength and love.
I have spent so many years
committing hate crimes against myself.
Now I’m working so hard
on loving me and
it’s not ******* easy.
But here I am
out of the closet
enjoying the light
I’ve been missing.
indigochild Dec 2018
ignoring who i am is almost worst than hating who i am

i laid bare before you, heart slipped on the hardwood floor
you became blind

i screamed vows in your ear, words scattered on the couch
you became deaf

i beggingly shook your shoulders, history spilled on the bed
you became paralyzed

you prayed
i sinned

this was not a choice

please respond
just please
please
...please

i’d rather have you hate me
Mohannie Dec 2018
To my two close friends
Never thought I could do it
I feel amazing
Today is a very special day! I came out as bisexual to my two close friends! This is honestly a HUGE milestone for me and I'm so relieved that I finally let my truth out. This has been quite a long battle and now I feel like my journey has officially started!
Shannon Soeganda Dec 2018
It is liberating indeed,

to be accepted inside and out for who you trully are;

being able to love who you want to love,

to choose whom you want to spend the rest of your life with,

and to live freely under your skin with comfort;

not needing to hide under layers of masks—

for life is not a masquerade.
You’re living your life to the most, if you can live your life to the fullest by being authentic.
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