Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sally S Ali Aug 2019
When it rains,
hide me by
your arms.

When it's sunny,
take me in a picnic
With your eyes.

When it's windy,
let's talk
about love.

in a stormy day,
hold me hard
and ..
Can you sing for me?
Gale L Mccoy Sep 2018
Oh sweetheart
you're as reliable as a thumb tack
holding up a poster to an event
you've always wanted to go to
as predictable as a Tuesday
at a minimum wage job
with open availability
cute as the button on a leather jacket
that poped off as soon
as the thread got loose
as fascinating as an ordinary moment
caught at a new angle on a rainy day
a puzzle I don't want to finish
but can't stop putting together
a book written in simple words
with a twist that has me hooked

as frustrating as a love poem
written by someone
who doesn't know how to love
not like this
I'll think of a better name in time
Gale L Mccoy Sep 2018
I see a familiar face
in a dusty puzzle
dumped from the box
hidden behind the viola

a fragment of her eye
and a bit of her hair
painted on the piece
stuck in the roots of
a half dead bloom
most of the peices
must have been burried
several seasons ago

I have half a mind
to let it rot till
the pink of her lips
Wait, what now?

Bound to get some questions from this, some hate; a backlash. The funny side of this is my middle name can basically be a backslash.

Some will say I don't have to mention.
Others will say I'm doing it for attention.

I'm doing it because I don't know.
I'm putting my confusion fully on show.
Whoohoo! Yippie! Let's go!

I don't have to be shy.
So what? Sometimes, I feel pretty much, like a guy
Perhaps, the majority will stigmatise.
For you see, my gender does not fit into a pretty little box, at least not in society’s eyes
(C) 2016
M Oct 2016
When I look at you, I feel like I am dying. Not the bad kind of dying, but the kind of dying where my lungs forget how to function and the oxygen can't seem to find its' way in.
The kind of dying where every hair on my body stands straight up, the muscles contracting like an icy wind just crept up my spine- frigid and tempting.
My eyes can't seem to break their gaze from you, like one of those cheesey scenes from a romance movie where they zoom in slowly on the person's face- locked on fixation.
My heart-rate slows, making it feel like there's no blood left in my body to pump, movements as slow as an IV drip full of Morphine.
Like my veins closed up and are rejecting circulation- just as i am rejecting focus on anything but you.
I can feel a warmth creep through me, like venom seeping into my blood after a deadly bite from a pit viper- just the perfect temperature to hatch the thousands of cocoons resting in my stomach lining.
I go to open my mouth, to speak to you, to converse about silly things like why the moon and sun never seem to meet, or why human toes are so odd- but all that seems to break its' way out of my body are butterflies of the most potent vibrancy, colors that don't even have names.
Colors so vivid and enchanting that only fairytales and daydreams could house them, conjure them up with spells of the highest power.
Your eyes catch me staring and I go weak in the knees- my body unable to decide whether it'd rather collapse to the ground in a motionless pile, sinking into the soil to become the undergrowth that feeds fungi and small flowers, or to kick itself into hyper-drive, frolicking about like a newborn fawn feeling sun on its back during its' first Spring.
Yet all it seems my mind can really fathom is the craving for you, like an intense sense of fiending for nicotine crawling through my flesh.
An addiction I couldn't stop, even if I wanted to. Since I will never stop wanting you.

Forgive my tone, I'm not trying to smart, rude or clever.
Gender shouldn't not be tender. Hopefully sooner or later it'll become like: Meh..Yeah whatever."
(C) 2016
Fionnuala Lidia Apr 2016
What right have you
To tell someone they are not
Who they know they are.
A person who seems so sure of themselves,
So comfortable.
Tells him,
Someone who questioned himself his whole life,
That he is not who he knows he is?
Sierra Noblitt Feb 2015
People tell me my love is wrong.
People tell me my love is sin.
People tell me my love will go to hell.

These people do not know what real love is.

When I am with her it's like I can clearly think for once.
When I am with her I can see the beauty and colors.
When I am with her I can see a future with happiness.

Then I kiss her and I know nothing will stop me.
Hale Salafia Apr 2014
Gender is a ****.
Now bear with me, I don’t mean it in a bad way
I mean it as gender is elusive
Gender is tricky
Maybe with my words I should be more picky
But that’s not the point
The point is gender is something I cannot hope to begin to understand

Maybe gender is a universe
And within it we are all stars
Or maybe gender is an ocean
Not quite the Dead Sea where everything floats
And not quite everywhere else where everything sinks
But somewhere in between
And within it we are all jellyfish trying to string together a coherent stream of consciousness that somehow makes sense

It’s getting away from me
I used to think gender was a binary
Male, female, *****, ******
Everything coincides so we all fit into this dichotomy
But that leaves no room for Alex who is sometimes Alex and other times Cassandra
Or Sasha who is somehow both at once
Or me who lays claim to no label, because all of them throw up a red light

There is one thing I do know as fact
Pronouns are not a privilege
They are a right

They, them, their:
Singular gender nonspecific pronouns
A customer came into the store today and bought twelve packs of gum
I didn't know what was on their mind, but
Maybe they wanted to kiss their lover full on the mouth while an orchestra of taste crescendoed around them
Caleb came into class today with two cupcakes
One for them and the other for their best friend who hadn’t shown up in two weeks
Claiming “She’ll be here today, don’t you worry”
And the rest of us lapsed into silence, knowing she was never coming back

She, her, hers
No longer will I suffer in silence as those I care most for
Call me something I am not
I am not your daughter, I am your child
I am not your sister, I am your sibling
I am not a girl
I am a nonbinary
I know it makes no sense
But if you just listen you might be able see
To escape the past tense
And start living in the future with me

No longer will we stay quiet
Duct tape over our mouths as we are locked behind closed doors
Buried beneath accusations of
“You’re just pretending”
No longer will we stay silent
The wrong pronouns whipping our bodies into submission

Is not a pronoun
Is not a compliment

You sit in the audience groaning
When will this queer shut up and go home
Isn’t it enough that we acknowledge your existence
But you don’t
I cannot count the times I have been misgendered
I cannot count the times I have wanted to speak up but didn’t
Knowing I would not be taken seriously

Now I will not be silent until there are no more stories of
Schoolyard oppression
Trans suicides caused by a “lesson”
I will scream myself hoarse until
Trans women can walk the streets in safety and
Bathroom means bathroom not
Remember this
As we are forgotten by our cis siblings
As we are told we don’t exist
As you, the cis  in the front row
That your daughter at home
May not be your daughter
At all
Just a poem born out of my frustration with gender

— The End —