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Caro Jan 6
I like my hairy legs,
They make me feel like a sunbleached cowboy.
They make me feel like a long, lean man with elegant lines and a strong forehead.
I like it when they’re blonde
And they just glisten on my skin.
Like a faux-protection or a cloak,
A delicate barrier between myself
And the world.

Or really I guess I just like the way it looks:
But smooth.

It looks wild but soft.

A landscape.

I think the hair compliments
The shape of me very well.

I’m always amazed how the hair grows everywhere,
Even on the back of my knees
There is hair

And I like my boyish pretty toes.

I guess I like the sort of genderless aspect to my legs.

From far away they shout

But from near they could be anyone’s: hairy with little scars here and there, hairy toes with some dead skin in the toe nail creases. A sort of chunky pink toe there on the end.

A bit of dry callous on my heels. A strong, curved calf muscle. The hollows at my ankles, the delicate depression behind my ankle bones just before the rigid wrinkles of my Achilles tendon.

I like the bulging veins in the arch of my foot when I point my toes
How they press their purple faces against my see-thru skin
Squeezed by the muscles that bump against one another beneath the hard arched bones above
I like the little bubbles of fat that pad my heels, turning bright yellow when I stand on them
Never-smooth legs that even when freshly shaved still prickle
Like a cactus
“Don’t get too comfortable here” they say
These beautiful legs aren’t for rubbing and lounging though my calves love to be pressured

These legs are made for exploration
Vanshita gogri Mar 2021
i am full of ideas and passion ,
just waiting to set the stage on fire.
i am  the bud, just waiting to bloom into a beautiful flower.
i am the sun that shows up everyday,
all shiny and glittery.
i am that written piece , just waiting to turn into a beautiful poem.
i am colours that just needs to be poured on a canvas and turn into a bright fluid art.
i am that one push needed  
i am not giving up on myself , never
i have wonders to make and dreams to wake.

-vanshita gogri
to finally touch a woman was no simple thing.
It was in some way, like
a newborn
crying out;  
the gory
familiarity of the womb;
yet, curious about
the doom
that awaits:
the heartache,
the toothache:
the sudden rush of blood that meets
the cheeks when a moment of
terror creeps up.
Touching her, in the sublet-
paying triple for my own space,
I faced her.
In the California King:
sheets made of nerves and
soft humming;
I opened my mouth,
my hair spilled about.
neighbors unaware of the
sudden quake of demolition.
My body in a construction
site, rebuilt, cemented,
and collected as an
entirely new property.
The room carrying me
Like a child, eyes opened
To what I had been missing.
Hammra Sistur Aug 2020
everything is living
everything is fluid
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ we can turn nickel
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀into iron
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ a sunday
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀into a monday
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀a kiss into a lie
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀   listen,
back behind the shot office
⠀⠀⠀⠀ where we waited
⠀⠀⠀⠀ in line for serum⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀dresses
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ flowed
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ across
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀                    the hills
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ and
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ unyielding nights
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ took in youth
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ and returned lovers
⠀⠀⠀⠀ ([angel.s] repented
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀  for the sin of
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀  purity AND [i] really do think it was understoo
⠀⠀⠀⠀),⠀⠀⠀bu/t now we contend•
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀muddy footprints on courtroom floors
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀an old man getting older pleading his
to the laws
of unyielding certainty
that rivet the universe
Akriti Jul 2020
I have seen you tracing all the curves,
scratching down from A to Z.

Some versions of yours were blue,
stolen some from the sky's hue.

Those letters red in rage,
all the emotions that were being caged.

Black was the darkest of all,
revealing secrets that were never known.

The ones in aberrant green,
expressed the fervor on the page like a screen.

But then as I started to evince,
you ran dry without no hints.
Alaina Moore Jun 2020
I grew up with God in the wind,
and didn't fit in with Christian friends.
They told me stories and begged me to repent.
Though doubtful, my anxiety sparked at the thought of sin.

I was once on a playdate and the mother told me.
She disowned her best friend when she confessed she was a lesbian.
She told me she could only take her back if she came to her senses.
It made me feel sad and sick, with little sympathy for the protagonist.

I was once told by a good friend that no one is bisexual, of course they're just confused.
I knew who I was but I didn't say anything in rebuttal.
I just nodded my head and took the bruise.

Once after jokingly seeing my boyfriend and another male friend hold hands, my mother told me "how dare those ******* disrespect you like that."
It was a moment that shattered glass and left scars.
I managed an apology after too much effort.

My stepfather once told me that gender fluidity was a confused phase, and a fad for attention.
Walls were put up and notes were taken.
Doors remained closed and silence  prevailed.

I am complicated.
I blend in to "normal"
I feel guilty at times and don't feel honest.

I undervalue, perhaps, the benefit of looping everyone in.
Or, perhaps, I'm just keeping the peace and heeding warning signals.

I can say for certain, it's not a fad nor phase.
I've always been who I am, I just had to grow up in order to phrase it.
A confession camouflaged as a poem.
Each verse is later in life. Starting from 12 ending around 26.
Max Neumann Nov 2019
have a look:

the [a-ha-ha-ha] platform is packed with
dressed in
occupational colors  

the commuters are not used
to smile regularly by the end
of a long day


have a closer look:

between the commuters you
some guys carrying
transparent [hr-ha-a] chunks filled with

somebody asks
about the fluid

now people have a
reason to laugh

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