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Sh Sep 2020
They say we are like beasts in the night;

Senseless and wild.
Menacing fangs, ready to devour the world.



In truth, we are like wolves;

Untamed with teeth to rip apart all who dares threaten our packs.

With furs to cuddle the biting cold away, sharp ears and eyes to pick up on the first signs of danger.



In truth, we are like cats;

Finding our home back from the streets,

Or simply knowing how to get away from the hand that feeds nothing but pain.



In truth, we are like rats;

Blamed for a disease we do not have,

Deemed filthy and wretched by all who refuse know us.



In truth, we are like crows;

Beloved by the outcasts,

Flock together into groups, loyal with a love that can bring gods down.



In truth, we are like mint;

Impossible to get rid of, no matter how many of us you pluck out of this earth.

Persistent and all the more lovely for it.



You say we are like seeds planted in pots;

Destined to settle down the way the gardeners dictated, all other possible futures disregarded.



In truth, we are like the moon;

the phases are nothing but your refusal to see as us a whole.
Jamie Frederick Aug 2020
A mask that everyone could see
Something to hide behind
A “shield” for me

It stung like needles
Burned like a brand
This mask placed by a hollow hand

I could never be rid of it
Never just be free
For what would my family think of me

It took a push from someone
A helpful hand
To finally remove that burning brand

They helped me take off the mask
Saw what was inside
And accepted me as I sat there and cried

They gave me a space
A place to be free
Until I was able to finally be me

I went to see my family
Without the mask, in open air
I steeled myself to be prepared


But instead of yelling
Of bitter frost
I found that my hope was not lost

I met with acceptance
Knowing care
A hearth’s warmth and gentle air

One day I left the mask behind
Not just for that day, but for all time
The burning brand, the stinging mark
Left in that closet in the dark
I wrote this about my experience coming out as well as the dysphoria I experienced (and still do experience). I've been out for a few years now, but I wanted to write this. This is my first published poem on here. I hope that you all enjoy.
sarah crouse Jul 2020
the princess locked herself away
behind tall walls of grey
so no one could see her die inside
and she can hide behind her pride

the dashing rogue saw these walls
she wanted to explore its halls
she wanted to see every inch
and find out why she's so quick to flinch

the rogue found an ornate gate
but saw the lock and had to wait
but she's impatient to see her free
so she set out to find the key

she travelled far and wide
to where the dragon resides
at the top of the highest mountains
surrounded by deadly lava fountains

the golden key dangled from its neck
beneath wicked teeth that kept you in check
but the rogue devised a cunning plan
to get the key as quick as she can

with clever words, she tricked the dragon
to give the key without any nagging
so back down the mountain, she walked
to match the key with the lock.
AStarsHeartbeat Jun 2020
I've been crying again but don't worry, I’ve been trying to understand myself and my sexuality since I was young, i came out as bi just to see if the label fit but it feels too controlling and the box gets a bit smaller each time I say the word, I’ve lied to friends about hook ups that never happened and have pretended to enjoy kinks for people I'll never meet in real life. I feel a disconnect to who I'm trying to be and I don't know if I'm scared of accepting myself or if I'm scared of someone getting too close for me to learn it hurts. How do I explain to my friends that I don't understand when they complain about not being with someone for a few weeks when it's been years and how do I know when I'm telling myself the truth and when I'm picking another label, I need someone to tell me what to do but there's no one to ask so I'll keep going until I understand.
basil Jun 2020

even if your name
doesn't match the one on your drivers licence
or birth certificate:
be proud

even if your pronouns
aren't the ones they use at
family gatherings or birthday parties:
be proud

even if the one you love
isn't the one you're with:
be proud

even if who you are
isn't who you want to be
right now:
be proud

even if people
don't understand
and still use slurs:
be proud

even if you have to fight
to stay visible:
be proud

even if you're not okay:
be proud
happy pride. especially to those who don't have anyone to celebrate with. i'll celebrate with you. even if you don't think you have anything to be proud of, the people that stood at the stonewall riots think that you do. i think that you do. countless members of this community stand with you, and know that you should stand with PRIDE.

so be proud.

06.01.2020
Sh May 2020
Blood is thicker than water.

I'm nine years old and my mother had sighed us both up for a dieting course.

At eighteen I still see how interchangeable fatness and ugliness are to her.

I still have to stop myself from thinking of skipping meals after I ate "too much".

Clinging to the fear of the slippery ***** that serves as my only guard.


I see it in my friends too,
comforted by their opposition for what my mother had embraced like gospal for the helpless fools.



Blood is thicker than water.

I like the hairs on my body.
The short and soft strands that cover my legs, blonde and black and all too
natural.

Removing them leaves my legs red and *****-*****- pickling for days but-

My sister laughs through a wrinkled nose,
My cousin tells stories, horrified, of women like me,
Mother says it's unhygienic and would not let me leave the house like this.


I haven't worn shorts in years.

But my friends' confident '*******' to everyone who isn't them,
who dares control their bodies and shame them into pain or hiding,

makes me feel like one day I might wear them again.



Blood is thicker than water,

I find it hard to talk to people.
The thought of discussing anything more than trivial matters makes my lunges heavy in my chest.

Talking to my parents- a heavy led filling what seem less and less like lungs with every passing second.

Talking to my friends- the heaviness doesn't always go away, but the weight doesn't get harder to bear.


I heard my mother tell a friend how her kids talk to her about everything.

A bitter laugh never tasted so much as the sea.



Blood is thicker than water,

Since I can remember myself, I never wanted kids.
Took me years so unveil why.

The dismissal cut deep when Mother assumed she knew me better than I do, a cruel arrogance for what she must only consider her property.
'You'll change your mind and give me grandchildren'

A payment for my life-
"Interest" she calls it.



Blood is thicker than water,

When I came out to you, dear parents, you once again ignored me

as if I hadn't tortured myself enough,

as if it hadn't taken me years trying to accept myself before you turned your back on me with cruel dismissal.

As if I don't still struggle.


All I have left is to fall back on my friends' support again,

being caught in their loving embrace without ever asking to.



They say you can't choose your family but-

the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.
Warning- references eating disorders.
This is slam poetry and thus sounds better when read out loud (or at least with a passionate inside voice 😂)
Sh Mar 2020
That relatable gay dream of running away,
Wind blowing through what's left of your hair,
the first ties to be cut.

That relatable gay fear, questions you'd rather not asked and that subsequent relatable gay sorrow after the answers.

That relatable gay loneliness, all hollow spaces and devoted secrecy.
Bitten back tongues and hidden colors.

That relatable gay moment of finding love in your friends.
Not the kind that you kiss but the kind you hold dear in the night,
as tears drip from cheeks to shoulders.

That relatable gay plan of holidays with your other gay friends, a real family, the one who would love you no matter what.
Cheers and queers and all too far away.

That relatable gay longing for love-
true love-
Like the kind they never show in fairytales,
Real and supportive, never hidden away or forgotten.

That relatable gay anger,
Boiling from injustice always under the surface,
Waiting to erupt in pointless shouts of grief for a world that was not built for me.

That relatable gay exhaustion, hostile slurs and benignant apathy blending together into a reality of unending fights just to keep on existing.

So when someone asks me what makes you a community I show them all those relatable gay moments of anguish and loss, of solemn support and stolen minutes.

And I tell them of how terrible it is that they are so very relatable,
But how wonderful it is that we could at least live through them together.
This poem has been inspired by my gay friends and my own experiences which really shows-
We're in this together <3
Sh Mar 2020
I want to be kissed the same way I once craved adventure;
A little girl, dreaming of climbing mountains, of quests just like the ones in her books.

The same girl dreams now of the gentleness of soft hands cradeling my face, of stars in my eyes and giggles in the night.

I want to be kissed the same way I once craved adventure;
In theory.

I want not the cuts and bruises from the stones, the unbearable sun beating down at me as I climb higher and higher.

I want not the relationship, strange lips meeting mine.
I don't want to see a face all too close, to know its details or hear its name.

I don't want to be kissed.
I want the fantasy of romance, the love of the story, the soft gestures of imagination.

If I am but a character of my own creation,
then I don't want the story to come true.
Me, reading a story with good romance: *swoons*
Me, imagining it happening to me: "ew, no thanks"
Sh Mar 2020
I have two things hidden in my closet:
Your birthday gift and my pride flags.

I ran to my room and tore them down from the walls the moment our company has arrived,
Preserving our doll house image.
The natural heterosexuallity I've learned to imitate.

So,
I suppose in a sense,
I have two gifts for you hidden in my closet.
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