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GJLT Mar 2021
And what is knowledge,
Other than glorified, or ignored, interpretation?
The meaning of a thing,
Of your idea,
Or mine.
Necessary because you can not show me what you mean,
At least not literally, for I am not rooted in your reality,  
So I may take it a different way.
And so there is constant legitimization to those who
Say “I meant it like this.”
And then so it is,
A found, perfect defense,
Of which we cannot dispute.
We do this while also applauding those
Who respond with fiery tenacity,
“Well, I took it this way.”
Well, then checkmate.
Scream atop the rooftops your messy, contested discourse,
And mix it in alongside the shadow
Of culture and history,
Allowing for the perfect recipe,
For there to never be
A clear winner,
But be prepared to accept that I know not what you mean.
Zhavaed Haemaed Nov 2020
She grasped me by the notes of affection. Making me believe that, once more I can love .. that emptiness is not my destination .. making me complete and insurmountably whole .. what fell me down to rigorous discourse .. could she be the one to open my shell .. I have explored the idea, not much by far.. for affection is in its own place.. commitment is its own.
On love and flirtation. On adulting yet while living by your morals. It's all a fine balance.
Dante Rocío Jun 2020
I live in some way on the edge of the world of the senses. I prolong my life with books, minute thrillances in the honourable existing through consciousness, Poetry, and I live from feelings, reflections. I barely spend time with my peers, I go to the city only when it is necessary, I don't know how to use Snapchat, Tik Tok, I don't listen to pop music, and since I don't have Facebook, you may not even consider me real. I don't engage in news, top trends or political issues. To put it in a nut shell, I am quite secluded from the global civilization.

However, something grave has recently been ignited and only two days ago did I realize what kind of slander is really happening in the country I currently am. Repressions against those who love/act differently. For what we feel, who we are with, that one wears pink or rainbow, that they are not what tradition or the wont of others expect. I saw the proud "LGBT FREE ZONE" boards on the photos. Joyful cleaning of the streets after pride marches, as if the plague of Albert Camus had passed there. Seeing non-heterosexual people as ****, like pariahs in India. That a student of one of my teachers cannot even give a new person their email due to fear. And a large part of Poland is even fine with it. To put it short, in humanitarian terms, we went back to the Victorian era or the Spanish conquests in a sense.

I do not know anything about politics. Sometimes I do not even remember who is the Prime Minister of Poland. And for many who are reading it now and don't know me, I can be nobody. But I know that I am in a way a pilgrim here and a heraldry of freedom for the world, now or later. And I have to do, give something from myself, because although words sometimes fail to express so much, at times, like dreams, they are the only thing we have left. So I write, I do what I can. Because someone has to say something more specifically.

In 2015, Chris Pueyo, a Spanish student from Madrid, published his poetic novel "El Chico de las Estrellas" ("The Star Boy") where he wrote his autobiography through his eyes and those of the third person. Without shame, he described his loves, ups and downs, the harassment from the hands  of the world surrounding him, and all the tears and his own blades of guilt and glory he had experienced and born, mainly because of his homosexual orientation, also to support others like him. So far no one has translated it into any other language and it is stuck in Spain and the countries of the South America. But I will change that. I've decided to be the first to do it. Although I'm not after any studies nor am I more than 18 years old. But I do it wonderfully, I have determination and love for the language as a person. And I have a goal. At first I thought it was because of my admiration for Chris's work and my desire to simply show it, but now I know that's not the point.

I'm doing this for You. Because in this country we lack books that free love from definitions, frames, books that discourse about our bodies or passion with their due admiration, truth and purity. So know that from now on I dedicate my work to You. To those to whom are clipped wings, words and hopes, to those who hide and want to love madly and without boundaries. To the colourful girls from my class who are not afraid to be all the shades of the rainbow with piercing and who supported me in difficult moments. To the aforementioned student of my singing teacher. I'm almost halfway through the book, I'm still waiting for an answer from the next publishers. I won't rest till I publish it for You and other personalities, even if, like J.K. Rowling, I have to go to 12 of them, because maybe those people are afraid of publishing it.

Less than a year ago I didn't know anything about LGBTQ+, I still haven't experienced any romantic perturbations in my life or ever fallen in love with any human. But thanks to the work of writers like Benjamin Alire Sáenz, Becky Albertalli, Chris Pueyo, many fanfics, articles or my own questions, I have seen how beautifully infinite, complex and simple love is, that there is nothing in it against the nature. I study God in the world, the Bible or the Koran, and I’m telling tell you that even there, in the depth of the verses, there is no absurd condemnation! I have gone through the issues of  defamed *** or nakedness into taboo and I’m saying to you: it is not unclean, forbidden, it is simply a corporeal act of devotion, our naked body is pride, not shame! Gender equality is not only the equality of man and woman, but of every person with the rest of the society. I have never experienced any serious harassment, pressure in the matter of my objects of affection, I admit it, but I do know what it's like when society wants to nail you to your biological age, body, gender, name and other ephemeral content on your ID card. Literally existential ****, in blood-stained handcuffs.

The main part of my being is The Poet. To be more precise, a "non-writing” one - poems are only a necessary medium to save my Poetry from the time, and the real one are my gestures, the doe eyes that the sky is clad in, thoughts, breath and feelings. So my task here is not forming rhymes and things into empty beauty yet bearing myself again and again in intimacy and metaphors more literal than the prose, between the verses. It is not a job, yet, for me, the most honourable identity. The path to my Home in the tears, grass, the Sacrality of Life, Myself. For this is My Love, Lover. I’m not joking. This is why I know such love and devotion though I’ve never been with any human in an intimate relationship. This doesn’t have ***, borders. Ergo I’ve never gave myself any name of my orientation, I don’t know what it would be and I don’t need to name it. I’m also a revolutionist at heart, I adore the vocal expression of the rebellion, therefore this is why I’m here. And I hope that I will be given the honour of being seen as one of You. Because this is pride. In the pride month.

I’m giving to You support greater than the word “YES” does it. My stance. And, finally, my poems. I dedicate them to You too, written partially especially due to the events taking place right now. I’m giving to Your hands my confessions entitled “And Who Are You To Be?” and “Of Feminine Touch, Of Masculine Sight”.

Don’t you ever let any being constrict your incalescent beauty of wonder. Don’t you ever let anyone claim you to be only a part of scheme, your job or any other miscellany in the bin. Just like You, I am the greatest wonder the history could have ever seen. Each one of us, on our own.

And one more thing, in reference to “The Star Boy”:
In this dead world, where dreams come
barefoot and unkempt to Nowhere,
let’s dance, like Lady Madrid,
with anarchy in the hair.
This time I'm not writing in poems or any literary style. I'm giving a discourse I want to share with all the LGBTQ+ people and many others who might need it, even if it seems to be little to some. Yet I gave something from myself. This is my English version of it since the original one was in Polish due to all that macabre taking place in Poland right now the most. I invite all the eager to read it and keep it in their heart.
I am with You. Wish you all the greatness. Hope I did well.
Hannah Jones Apr 2019
Cut the pretense.
We both know
--we as in me
and myself
looking in the "I" of the beholder--
that you're scared.

Every fiber
of my being
fights against this pen
this hand
these thoughts

What to think?
Maybe forcing thought
is my form of rebellion
You can't invade
if thoughts are
my barricade
so I build
piling high rhymes
pseudanymes for good times
--words that are not my own.

What do I own?
I borrow my words,
my thoughts,
my emotions.

Do I go through the motions?
Or have I learned how to respond
as anything besides a pawn
in a game I don't even
know how to play?

Just stay.
If you're in quicksand,
If you're thirsty,

And  t h i n k.
Think for yourself.
Your mind is your weapon
as is your heart
so play your part
with courage
for you were cast for a reason.

Embrace your season.
Bear the cross
and let it be messy.
Nobody believes that it's easy
so stop resisting
and start lifting
Let yourself be strong
Let yourself be weak
Let yourself  b e.

Your strength is your presence.
Your weakness, your solitude.

"Yourself to yourself--"
too near, or too far?
Can you even determine
when reality and reverie
blend more often than not?

Be at peace.
Stop resisting.
Know where you stand,
and have a seat.

We've been waiting for you.
Prompt: resistance
Result: unnamed inner demons coming to light
Hannah Jones Dec 2018
"Who ever loved who loved not at first sight?"
You see, I think that was my first mistake.
For I am in a familiar plight-
before love is offered, I rush to take
the things I think someday I will desire
(not to say that I do not want them now)
then mind feeds heart events that "may" transpire
while flustered heart forms a glistening brow.
I get worked up over my fantasy
and stumble, blind, through each and every day
until my Brother I no longer see
and view, instead, the source of my dismay.

My first response: to loathe with all my might.
I can't bear to dream of your face tonight.
Written three months prior to the last piece. Different muses, different approaches to the same problem. My, how far we've come.
Hannah Jones Dec 2018
Gone are the days
of hating that I
love you.

No more will I regret
harboring affection
for you, my friend-
the point of loving
is to  l o v e
not entertain bemusement
nor toy with reverie
but to love.
And this love
is a choice
I am honored to make
every day.
But darling, I'm new at this.
Right now
I don't know
what to do with this love
still young
still pure
so I get frustrated.
This isn't carnal-
I refuse to go down
that road again.
Because I love you.
You are more than
your body
your smile
your sense of humor
you are the son
of a King
and deserve to be treated
as such.
I'm simply trying to navigate
this labyrinth
there must be a map somewhere
but until I find it
I will tread carefully
'round the garden
past the budding newness
of it all
and strive to find you
at the end of the day.

Gone are the days
of hating that I
love you.

Here's to the days
of knowing how.
Love is hard. But boy, is it worth fight for.
OpenWorldView Oct 2018
An Orwellian term
used by self-righteous hypocrites
hiding behind a cloak of morality.

Wake up.

Political correctness controls the narrative
by shaming and suppressing.

It forces upon us
the “one true” ideological orthodoxy.

It eliminates decent and
makes people lie and self-censor their words.

Stand up.

We must allow others to speak
and voice their thoughts.

Some might be stupid,
so let’s expose their faults.

Some might be outrageous,
so let’s pause and defuse.

Some might be hurtful and mean
so let’s self-reflect and steel ourselves.

Speak up.

Political correctness leads to sameness
contrary to the individualism
it pretends to protect.

It is a road into slavery.
First the slavery of your mind
and later slavery of your body.
Open dialog and discourse instead of laws and restrictions which put chains around words.
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