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Kitten Yvad Oct 9
I cried in a cafe
over the summer

Atop a sheet of music
my tears blurred
the digital bars on the screen

Yes Suz I've told him
&i  swear I still love him
you think maybe he doesn't believe me?

Love, you gave me
your note book, you call me
sweet things help me with
Sheetmusic reading

When im with him
I only think of you
Multilove my heart is
split in two
tell me tell me how it
feels so whole???

Your piano fingers,
you cup My face,
im dying to say your name

you teach me to spell
it with notes
I tell you I love him

Your smile, I see your eyes
you are so pure, my love,I'm afraid
I'm going to hell

If I told you I love you
You'd never believe me
All the love im living im breathing
Minor harmonic, my heart a
diminished third

You hold me, Habibi
and tell me you're sorry
your fear wasn't for me

I've only been soft

Atop a sheet of music
my tears blurred
the digital bars
"multilove" made me cry in the cafe like I was divorcing my partner of 20 years and parent of my children. When really I just loved two people of different genders at once, and equally. Can you even imagine falling into despair over how good it feels to be in love? To be in more love.  When nothing's wrong.. there's only love. And feel like you don't deserve to feel it all.
Gabriel Aug 9
I imagine how soft the hands must have been
to crush supple, christened grapes into wine,
and I sip for longer, staring down the Deacon;
avert my eyes from the wrinkles that find
some hand between, a drop of wine on the palm,
pushing the lifeless red to lips, mine.

With the wood of the pews touching bare thigh
and someone either side of me, I pray, silently,
for the ghosts of the Vestal Virgins who were, too,
boxed into Heavenly pastures, to come and sing,
with cherry-wine mouths, that Hell will be most glorious.

I wish women were priests, and think of how tempting
it must have been for Eve to find gentleness
when Adam touched his remaining ribs - the beauty
of self, she must have eaten an abundance of fruits
grown from male seed, before the apple speaks of tenderness,
of the mirror that shows herself. The cruelty of the snake
burns, and Hell bleeds as punishment for unwritten crime.

But how beautiful it is, to think that God exists!
To think of him lying dead, splayed out,
or perhaps curdling into spoiled milk, festering
in the fetal position, plumes of Papal smoke
encompassing his body, the smell of stale cigarettes
and spilled wine, and a congregation chorus-echo of Last Rites.

I have never been sure how to worship, only the imperative
of the verb - to worship - to allow God to enter wherever he pleases
and to leave wildly, like horses trampling across northern grass.
I have known for as long as I have held privy to thought
that my body is not my own, I must open the gateway to my vessel
and let him free me from sin; Lord, help me,
but I keep finding God in the eyes of a woman.

Finding her at a crossroads is like finding myself in the dark,
forbidden, and the easiest thing my hands have ever led me to do,
except I can no longer recall whether any hymns sung of Eve;
temptation crowns her legacy and we remain treated this way,
like grapes, and there is power beyond omnipotence in accepting
that if we are going to be crushed, we may as well hitch our last breaths
on the lips of women, praying, eternally, for God’s eyes
to have been burned out by his own, masculine light.
From a collection of poetry I wrote for a creative writing portfolio in second year of university, titled 'New Rugged Cross'.
Gabriel Aug 9
We were dying of thirst,
clamouring amongst each other
to lick the spit of women
like mothers’ milk,
we cried out, begging
for resolution,
for water in the drought.

Our lives were shattered,
children screaming
for the since-dried milk
of nourishment,
women sobbing upon
small corpses.

God, we cried.

And then you came,
a gift amongst the flint;
we had long since found fire
but you taught us
how to put it out.

It ached in the milk-light
of our bones,
a flowing stream
and tablets carved
of testaments,
of commandments
that spoke
of how we were destroying
the earth,
how repentance
is simply not enough.

And god, we cried,
we cleansed our sins,
and we cried
for water,
and you brought it to us.

Legs spread,
Mother Mary holding
women close,
the only sacrament
worthy of sacrifice.
Men falling in useless battles,
and women bringing water
to the dead.

We found a stream.
We drank.

Mother Mary sunk wide,
and god, we drank.
From a collection of poetry I wrote for a creative writing portfolio in second year of university, titled 'New Rugged Cross'.
Ginger R Aug 7
Sometimes I wonder
How someone could ever call something so incredibly beautiful
A sin

Check your bible my friend
Your translation is twisted
We're all sinners

Equal in the eyes of God

Did you forget
His entire thing
Is loving us All

So say it's a sin. Tell the world how you hate us
(Hate is a sin)
Say you're not one of "those homophobic people"
But tell me it's wrong
Right to my face

My friend, you've become
My enemy
But I will love you
(God says that's something we all should do)

So I will pray earnestly
For the day
You realize I'm "one of those awful sinners"
And maybe you too
Will understand and accept my God
(Because he accepts and loves Everyone)

Until then,
I won't tell you if I get a girlfriend
(But I swear I'll love her)

And I'll expose your children
To all the "horrors of this earth"
(Because I believe they're beautiful)
And really, how could anyone call something so beautiful
a sin
"Love covers a multitude of sins" (:
(Also this is the fourth poem I've posted today? I think? So oops didn't mean to spam, just have a lot of feelings today) :D
Acora Aug 18
“I CHOOSE TO FEEL” should be
emblazoned across my chest
like a badge of honor
reclaimed from the badge
of shame it was
intended for.
Somehow I’m simultaneously Hester Prynne and a modern woman who wants to get her ******* pierced.
vonny Jun 3
"it's not right,
you're sick and depraved,
you don't know anything,
it's disgusting,"
is what they all shouted at me

i bit my tongue,
swallowed my blood,
hid my colors
but stood my ground

black and blue bruises
made me feel *****,
but i perservered,
despite the angel's cry

and suddenly all the beatings
turned into shoves
the slurs yelled at me
became "be proud!"

despite the sugarcoating
and the sudden change of heart
i saw through the false, white smiles
popularity creates lies
i wrote it about my anger about how little people cared about the lgbt community when it actually mattered a lot, and a lot of people are now pretending to have supported it all along for clout
Lemonade Jun 1
My friend puking out her Christmas dinner like a little girl trying to scrub off that uncle’s touch who tells her she is his favorite kid.
For her dad fat shames her every day.

My friend’s parents sending her to therapy because they don’t get how she can like a boy as well as a girl. Or rather don’t try to, because calling it phase is so much easier than explaining to the neighbors how that is who their daughter is. They are oblivious to what it is like to live in a home where you are treated like a victim of your existence.

My friend needs help, a little attention and someone to talk to.
His family is ashamed, how they could have done better for him, how they’re responsible for the things inside his head and I still don’t know what depression does to him, his family doesn’t like to talk about it.
They’d rather consider him possessed because anything is better than people knowing that he needs therapy and love and care. “Their son can’t be suffering from mental illness, they’re a happy family.”

My friend tells me she’s turning into her mother, and her mother let me tell you, she’s fabulous and fierce for she has been through things harsher than a lover who never says,'I love you’ but wants you to be their ***** little secret and you love them a little too much to deny. My friend, she had an anxiety attack last night for she can’t go out with her guy friends, neither talk to a classmate for too long because her boyfriend might start ****-shaming her. I disapprove and tell her she is not turning into her mother but when I sit in their living room, and aunty brings me snacks while talking to me about life within these faint green walls of the house and what did I eat for breakfast. I ask her to go out sometimes because there are so many things out there that she’d be experiencing and creating, friendship, weather, languages, people, art, emotions. And smell some sunlight in the lush greens fields. She says she’s not allowed to, like a kid calling its mother, "Ma". Her husband loves his ***. And her helplessly hazardous heart, too drained to take ‘harlot’ for a word from an alcohol-soaked throat.
The same walls that once adored their wedding photographs now question their love.

My friend’s girlfriend telling him she loves him but they can’t be together because she’s doesn’t want to be seen with him in the streets. But she seeks his warmth in the winter and leaves right before spring. He loses a little bit of himself every time she does that. He blames himself for what love does to him.

The woman who wears a heavy heart to the bed, finds it difficult to put herself to sleep, holds her dog for a little too long. Whose husband refuses to try therapy.
For I can't margin in metaphors, the agony within the wives who haven't been touched for years.
And the woman who feels a little less human after every night her husband forces himself on her. Because she's, his wife. His. Possession not prized but objectified.
The wife whose husband refuses to wear a ******, she gulps down pain every morning with the pills.
Families of these women, who were taught to think that is how the society functions and who are unwilling to unlearn.      

My friend’s brother asking her to stop wearing that short skirt around guests. There's a hole in her heart every time she remembers the traces his hands left on that infertile body of the kid that looked just like her. He pretends like it never happened.
Tell me the things I can change to make this piece of writing better.
vonny Apr 13
it felt so wrong

but she simply had to exist

feelings were all over the place

disaster struck 

simply denying was not enough

all she did was smile

which sent

hearts racing

it felt so wrong




she didn't notice

it felt right

(that's a lie)
wrote this about a girl i loved but also just internalized homophobia in general.
ianne Jan 30
so the Bible said
Adam and Eve
not Adam and Steve
or Eve and Stacy
or anything else in between
i sat in church last Sunday
and unknowingly, as the priest spoke
i got a

let me tell you about someone who spoke
into my bones and nails in my skin
how we want to go to sleep
but cant
because the way her texts sound in my head
keep my body from making more melatonin
she is way too bright
to stay in my life

i get home everyday and my family asks me
if i've met a good man yet
they started dating at 16, they said
if you don't find a boyfriend soon
people might think you're gay, they said
my mother's voice sound like
ice-pick on grass, silent and blunt
tears out chunks of me every time she swings
my father makes gay jokes at the dinner table
saying how ***** they can be
blame the victim for the disease
and i can't keep living this double life

let me tell you about a girl
all jack-hammered sunflower
light green footsteps on rose
her laugh is so unforgettable
i forgot how to speak sunday
let me tell you about a girl
so ******* gorgeous
got me wrapped around her finger
golden guardrail with my grasping for my life
her every sentence an adventure
every moment together seemed to defy time

i still life with my parents
still surrounded
seeing stained glass sundays
heteronormativity in the carpets
we went to a different church last week
and the Gospel called me out
said that to love is to love
and to be loved is to loved
so why, God, did you will me into existence
when love isn't my strongest sense?

three pews across mine
a familiar flair of blue and white
the hymns of yellow and jackhammer spark
we lock our eyes and she unlocks my heart
with a smile
let me tell you about someone
who spoke jackhammer and conviction
all rainbow and bleeding
her every step lift step
spreading color into places that didn't believe in their existence

maybe someday i wouldn't have to live on a tightrope
and i could open my mouth and let her name fall off my tongue
without worrying why and who threw the first brick at Stonewall

maybe someday
i could come home with her in hand
let her speak jackhammer blaze into my walls
and renovate the way my parents know me
change the pattern in our floorboards
switch the vocabulary in their speech
but that's someday, not today
so i will pretend to speak sunday
and beg forgiveness in someone who i'm told doesn't tolerate me
while i wait for these jackhammer to break down these walls
and instead of us fighting
let everything else

copyright | ianne.
i came out to my parents recently as both gay and non-binary. i was greeted with many trips to our local catholic church. the rest can speak for itself.
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