svdgrl Dec 2017

Labotomize these thumbs,
they scroll more than they strum.
I don't mean to be dumb,
but I can't respond back so I hum,
and you won't hear me.
No, you can't see the words that I write.
I'm sure you'd only
be tickled,
If you knew that I think of you all night.
Because I can't sleep, love.
And I can only touch me right,
Yeah, that's right.
Just me, love.
Hope I can keep up with this fight.
And I know you don't really care,
and you haven't got some spare
feelings left to share
and if there are, they're barely there.
So drop the pity,
I'm mad you got to hear me whine.
How unsexy.
I'm supposed to just be doing fine.
I'll compartmentalize,
put it in a box and tie it with twine.
while you're liking ever post of mine.
I'll compartmentalize.
While I reread your every line.

Bibek Oct 2017

It is obvious that you wouldn't like her
Her eyes wouldn't shine for anyone but me...

About love
AmIRapunzel Oct 2017

You will always be
A wish that was not granted
I badly wanted

                                               -A.U.

Riot Aug 2017

Cigarettes stain my nose with the smell
I'm not sure how to tell you I'm love with you
but the smell of gasoline makes me forget to tell you
I'm allergic to three words.

Riot Aug 2017

I've imagined a romance plagued by jazz.

Ella sings in my head, as i
fall in love.

Billy tells me your secret wishes, as we
dance around a christmas tree that barely fit in my crappy apartment.

Louis sings you to sleep
Whenever I never got to say goodnight.

Riot Jul 2017

Undressing slowly
Time close
to me,
hanging on
my side,
the side I kept
my tattoo.
                                    Buttoning quickly
                                       Tying my shoes,
                                              laced in fear
                                                 &uncertainty.
                                      
                                   A few hours
                                      away from thinking
                                         about who I love


              (My own personal bomb),
  

                                                                                    ...thinking of you.

Riot Jun 2017

I want you.

I want to know your favorite color and your middle name.
I want to know about the people you hate and how you found out you loved women.

How do you make your sandwiches?
What foods do you like and can’t pronounce?
What places do you want to see and what words do you know but can’t explain the definition?

Can we cuddle?  
And by cuddle I don’t just mean lay on you, because trust me, I can do that without cuddling. By cuddling I mean let me hold you till you forget your problems and I finally stop talking.

I want to call you baby. I want to sit in a room, with you, listening to jazz music.

I want to feel your pulse and you feel mine,
I want to hear your heartbeat dance to the rhythm of the same songs on the corny playlist on Spotify I made that remind me of you.

The Special Playlist,
(I call it)
The Makeout Playlist,
(you do).

I want to only be about to hear our synced hearts
and the slow songs
and the weight of the world leaving our shoulders
plopping onto the floor with your worries
and the jacket I took off of you when you first came in.

I want you to tease me
because I significantly failed as a former lesbian
because I’ve never watched Orange is the New Black
or The L Word
“You’re not Lesbian certified”
You’ll tell me.

I want to speak to you
In my limited German vocabulary
and watch gay movies
and let you tease me even more
when you find out I can’t sit through sex scenes
even the really gay ones,
and nudity isn’t my thing.
It’s okay though,
Your laugh is cute.

And I want to kiss you.
I want to kiss you like
we’re those horny ass teenagers
from Romeo and Juliet,
(but with a better ending).
I want to kiss you like
there’s nobody else in the world
And there aren’t people who hate me for liking you
And your family won’t care if you love me because
Damn,
I want to kiss you.

Let me buy you flowers,
and want to take you on dates.

Let me take you to McDonald’s
and order off the dollar menu because
I believe in treating my girl right
(And I get an employee discount)

let me tell you why I churches make me nervous
and how I don’t believe in God and
why I don’t like birthday parties
And how I want to have my cake and eat it too
Even though I hate cake
And prefer cupcakes,
But nothing is better than cake if that’s you.

I want you to know why I played trumpet for three years then switched to baritone,
I want to know if you’ve ever done drugs and how it felt.
What are your morals and values?
What’s your utopia?

I want to send you goodnight texts and spend hours talking about nothing
And dance offbeat with you because
neither of us could have rhythm to save our lives.
I’ll let you scream fight me when I let you win in games I would destroy you at because you get that goofy smile when you think you’ve won.

Introduce me to your family and I’ll show you mine.
Let me see your baby photos and we can see foreign movies on Netflix.
Let’s go out for coffee and ask deep questions.


I don’t care, okay?
I just want you.

I need less free time
Riot Jun 2017

Kiss me like we’re going to die tonight.

Kiss me like a meteor
will crash down on top of us
and we’ll burn͞
(like the churches want us to burn)
Under it.

Kiss me like I did
Back when I still cared what people thought
And kissed boys the way I thought
Was socially acceptable
Because being gay was wrong then.

Kiss me like we’re that stupid couple
That make out in the hallways
like they’ll never see each other again
and block our way to our classes.

Kiss me like those lesbian love songs you love so much,
let our rhythm play the beat through us,
and let it make you believe I can sing,
because this is the only time I’m in key.


Kiss me like we’re going to die tonight.

I can't sleep
Riot Jun 2017

Black and white movies
play behind us
As I make you question
The whole damn world.

Mind fuck
Is what you call my theories,
My stories,
My questions,
My answers.
“Is that bad?”
I ask you. You
tell me I never could tell
when you were interested
or were telling me it was bad.

I suppose you’re right.


Babe,
you ask later,
as I read,
and you watch the movie,
what is the quadratic formula?

I don’t look up
but I can feel
that damn near perfect smile.
You always do this,
ask me random questions
that aren’t useful anymore
at not least to us.

So I recite it.
And you laugh.
And I laugh.
And we continue being together
Doing different.

You ask me several more
Over the course of the movies and books.
What is flash fiction?
What is life?
What is meth made from?
Do you know that Mark Twain novel—?
Yes, I love your questions.
I love you.

Babe,
you say,
What is love?
I don’t respond.
I want to say another
dictionary definition
but it doesn’t come out.

“Mind fuck,” I say.

Riot Jun 2017

I have tried many ways to think of her but
Astronomy was the only way I could write on.
I've tried to comfort her out of despair, but
I couldn't find the words to take her out of pain.
When I heard he made her cry,
I wanted to take the pain out of her,
put them into his face and my fists as
I hit him into the oblivion space we know space to be, and
him see the stars closer than any telescope had seen.
I wouldn't mind being in pain for a little while so
the sun could dry her tears,
she was trying so hard to hide.

Would it be so terrible for me to remind her
how the stars bowed in her presence?
Would It be so terrible for me to show her
nobody sees the stars
and the beauty of night anymore
because they are afraid of her
and the beauty she brings?
I too scared to ask if she knows
how you left her after class
to scream at the universe for
making her believe
she was anything less,
than the closest thing to perfection
the universe has to offer. Does she
know how you've collected books of
nebulas in your heads that show when
she decides to laugh? Does she know
you how hard this is for you, to sit here
and smile and joke like your heart
doesn't break with hers as you see her
in a pain deeper than imaginable and you
know it. It spans across all universes and expands
further than your love of poetry and your longing to
hug her and tell her it's going to be okay, but
you know that's not true,
and you can never make that true.
So you sit here,
and write a love poem never to be read,
because that means something would die inside you
or her
if you shared how much of the universe you could give to her
how much of the universe
and the stars
and the planets
and the comets
and meteors
you could shower her with
if she knew how beautiful she was....

ugh
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