Running through the wood
The girl is running
In hot pursuit is the enemy
The enemy behind her-
She darts to the left
Almost tripping
She needs to get away
Away from the enemy
Suddenly
She leaps forward
A river in front of her-
She plunges
Icy waters suck her in
She reaches the other side
Only just
Has she escaped,
Escaped the enemy?
Exhausted
She turns round,
Looking down into the water
She sees a reflection
Terrified
Drenched
She runs again
For she has seen once more
The enemy.

Ocean T 1d

a collection of invisible ink tattoos
scrawled on the surface of my skin,
secrets written on my face,
these hands trace letters
d
  o
    w
       n
the line of my s
                           p
                               i
                               n
                                e
printed on shaking knees,
shine a light on me
and you'll see.

written on 19/10/17 sitting on the grass at a local park, only slightly warm weather, heavy shoulders and a heavy mind
Jobira 1d

What if I am just
A kind of man
Who is full of shit?
A man who is
A lair and
A cheat
A man with a dark heart
Who is masked with deceit
And orchestrating an intent
And masquerading his true colors
Yet sells angelic vibes
For that’s all his is?

Would you then build a dam
Around your broken heart,
To keep my waters out?
Or would you still take me in face value
As nothing is what it seems?

@jobiranyc (10/19/2017)

What if  you’re ot what others perceived you to be?

Would that still make you human?
Story 6d

Maybe we are full of ghosts
And therefore, nothing, but
Data
Patterns in brackets and matrices of Proof
buried in the dunes of our own topography
Where lies
Everything
That gives us shape.

Someone told you when you were young
that people would treat you like a library,
come and go as they please,
sometimes leaving you a little more
empty,
sometimes curling up in a corner, immersed in you
an ark, strong and safe, for some
as they talk over you and
leave two by two,
fidgeting hands leaving gaps in your armoured rows of memories
unsettling old and settled dust
in their haste.
Sometimes they will come only to put you back on the shelf
in order to move on to some brighter place.

Your dim warm lights will comfort some and depress others,
and that's alright, they said,
some will risk it all to stay all night.
Still, knowing this,
you sit lamplit on the patio
buttoned up with regret
wine red lips pursed
burden on both sleeves
tired of the world already at twenty three.
They never told you that torn pages and unfinished stories
would bleed and hurt like real wounds
that some would leave you
collapsing behind them,
crumbling, folding,
the threat of closure looming
like an unsatisfactory ending--
they didn't tell you that libraries are also oceans
stretching fields
and cities
burning crashing and fading into bittersweetness
and balled fists

they       didn't tell you of plot twists like this
or what to do when they arise
your big moon eyes clouding over
like a stormy night
in front of living room lights
that have turned their back on you
or that sometimes peter pan at the window
would have more luck than you at getting
through people's frosted glass

You have to learn your own fresh start.
So, paint your insides, watch them dry
under the new moon.
That sinking feeling is just
a new room,
no stories in it yet.

- ellie f elliott
Thandiwe Apr 19

I have yet to see the full wonder of God.
Like a big, colourful butterfly... with each flap of its wings a new colour is revealed.
I'm amazed and in awe. Words fail to capture what rests in my heart.
With every thought, my heart smiles and swells with excitement.
To know that this God I hear about... knows me loves me and created me.
Me. Thandi. Weird and awkward... He still sees me and calls for me. Pursues me and astonishes me with His mystery.
I'm amazed that I am His child and that He actually wants the best for me.
Where have I been this entire time... away from this truth?
Where have I been looking, what have I been searching for because I'm overwhelmed by this truth.
It has grabbed my heart and captured my spirit... to remember exactly who Jesus is and what He did for me.
What the scriptures say resound the heart of Jesus and I'm so excited to know Him.
I am too happy to know Jesus.
I can't believe I could've missed this unspeakable joy. This freedom, this victory.
What have I been looking for? A genie in a box, a saviour chilling at a street corner,  a make-believe god who is powerless?
What have been waiting for, hoping in, praying for?
Now I see, now I know... there is no other place my soul would rather be.
Nothing the world gives compares to this.

Adrian Avery Oct 11

I hate being maternal
I hate being fearful
I hate being traumatised
I hate being quiet.

I hate my attraction to men
Because it makes me fearful
That I’ll have kids
And they’ll be neglected, empty and loveless.

I hate being anxious
I hate losing control
I hate my upbringing.

If it weren’t for the confusion
And the belting and the yelling
I wouldn’t be scared.

I hate my attraction to men
Because it made me fearful
I was told that they’re rapists
And they’d take advantage of me.

I hate being weak
I hate being gendered
I hate looking and feeling small.

I wish I was only attracted to women
Because I’d be less fearful
I wouldn’t worry about having kids.

I hate feeling inadequate
I hate feeling like a machine
I hate feeling weak.

I wish conversion therapy worked
Because I hate being attracted
To any man who might hurt me
Or force me to have kids
Or force me to be his slave
Or refuse to accept who I am.

I hate being viewed as a woman
I hate when I try to express affection
Women laugh at it, and men take it the wrong way.

I hate being invalidated
As a non-binary person
Who doesn’t want to cause anyone pain.

I hate sexual attraction towards men
Because if it weren’t for self-control
I’d dig my own grave
And possibly that of unwarranted children.

I hate being an unhappy child
Because if I was raised lovingly
I wouldn’t be anxious
I wouldn’t be cursing my sexuality
For including men

Because I wouldn’t be scared
Of having kids
Cos I’d know I would raise them
The happy way I was raised.

If I was raised lovingly,
I know I’d raise kids that way too
And they wouldn’t suffer
They wouldn’t blame me
And the cycle of raising kids lovingly
Would be passed on throughout generations.

Tell me I’m exaggerating
But my dad swore
He wouldn’t raise me
The way his father raised him.

But I was terrorized
By his beltings
Just like the ones
His father gave him.

So I hope you understand
Why I hate part of my sexuality
And why for the good of others
I don’t want kids.

I want to stop this cycle
Of fear, pain and suffering
Even if it ends me.
Even if no-one remembers me.

It’s good for my conscience
To say this right here and now
I hate being scared
And I’d hate for anyone
To be afraid of me.


11th October 2017

This poem lays my heart openly bare, it's extremely personal so I hope you appreciate that as a reader.
The title is important- if it weren't for me experiencing sexual attraction to men to any degree, I wouldn't feel as if being sexually involved with any of them might spiral out of control so that I'd end up with kids, and those kids would eventually be abused by me, the same way I was abused by my father who swore he'd NEVER belt me like his father did, but got angry and belted me which betrayed my trust.
No one is perfect, and how anyone is raised WILL influence how they raise their children. My father was abused in anger, so he abused me when he was angry. And I know that'll be the case with any children in my care, hence why I wish I could stop the cycle entirely by only finding women and afab (assigned female at birth) people attractive, therefore not putting myself in a situation to get pregnant and have any kids.
So yeah, hope this backstory wasn't too tedious and that it helps you understand why I wrote this poem ^

ﺒﮭﯽ ﺁﭖ ﻧﮯ ﭘﺎﻧﯽ ﻣﯿﮟ ﮔﺮﮮ ﺗﯿﻞ ﮐﮯ ﻗﻄﺮﮮ ﮐﻮ ﺩﯾﮑﮭﺎ ﮬﮯ ..؟ ﻭﮦ ﭘﮭﯿﻠﺘﺎ ﮬﮯ ﺗﻮ
ﺍﭘﻨﮯ ﺭﻧﮓ ﺑﮑﮭﯿﺮﺗﺎ ﮬﮯ .. ﺍﮔﺮ ﭘﺎﻧﯽ ﭼﻞ ﭘﮍﮮ ﺗﻮ ﻭﮦ ﺳﺎﺗﮫ ﭼﻠﺘﺎ ﮬﮯ ﻟﯿﮑﻦ ﻭﮦ ﻗﻄﺮﮦ
ﮐﺒﮭﯽ ﭨﻮﭨﺘﺎ ﻧﮩﯽ .. ﭘﺎﻧﯽ ﭼﺎﮬﮯ ﮔﺪﻻ ﮬﻮ ﯾﺎ ﺻﺎﻑ ' ﺗﯿﻞ ﮐﺎ ﻭﮦ ﻗﻄﺮﮦ ﺍﭘﻨﯽ ﺷﻨﺎﺧﺖ
ﻧﮩﯿﮟ ﮐﮭﻮﺗﺎ ' ﭘﺎﻧﯽ ﮐﯽ ﺳﻄﺢ ﭘﺮ ﺗﯿﺮﺗﺎ ﺭﮬﺘﺎ ﮬﮯ ..
ﺁﭖ ﺳﺐ ﺑﮭﯽ ﺗﯿﻞ ﮐﮯ ﺍﯾﺴﮯ ﻗﻄﺮﮮ ﺑﻦ ﺟﺎﺋﯿﮟ.. ﺯﻣﺎﻧﮧ ﺁﭖ ﮐﻮ ﺍﭘﻨﮯ ﻣﯿﮟ ﺿﻢ ﮐﺮﻧﺎ
ﭼﺎﮬﮯ ﻟﯿﮑﻦ ﺁﭖ ﺍﭘﻨﯽ ﻧﯿﮑﯽ ﺍﻭﺭ ﺍﭼﮭﺎﺋﯽ ﮐﯽ ﺷﻨﺎﺧﺖ ﺑﺮﻗﺮﺍﺭ ﺭﮐﮭﯿﮟ

Rain reminds me of all the tears
I'm too afraid to shed
And all the times I rejected you
By closing my heart and head.
You're there no matter what I say even when what I said-
Might have made you wish that you hadn't died in my stead.
But all the same,
Through thick and thin
You came back time and time again
And that is why I ask forgiveness for my failures and my sin.
I can't do this on my own
So help me to remember
That when I fall and break my heart-
Your love is great, your eyes are bright,
Your embrace is calm and tender.
So let it rain and let me cry.
Take away my fear so I-
Can learn to trust in who I am.
In who I am
In you.

So, yeah. Cutting straight to the chase here- I'm a Christian, and although that can mean a lot of different things these days, I'm sticking to the title. Largely, because "Christian" without "Christ" is just "Ian" and my name is not "Ian." Apologies to any "Ian's" reading this. It's not that I don't like your name, I just think that taking the creator out of the creation is kind of an arrogant thing to do. Anyway- I wrote this as a sort of prayer. I've always struggled with finding my identity in who people around me say I am, sometimes even who I say I am. The truth is though, that I am nothing without the God who has made me holy and righteous in His sight. I am not who I think I am. I am not who you tell me I am. I am who God says that I am. Even when I treat God like crap, He's still there, and He's still good. I still have to deal with the consequences of my actions, but God still love's me. That's my belief. It may be unpopular, but I still believe it. Feel free to message me for more information about my personal beliefs. I'd love to talk to you.

If I was a cat,
I would be orange and fat.
Meow meow,
meow meow.
Purring to some human chitchat.

Instead I am human,
Nothing but a feline fan.
Meow meow,
purr meow.
Be more than one thing, yes you can.

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