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Destiny C Aug 20
I'm a Feminist
My ovaries are in pain.

I'm a woman
I don't feel connected to my main vein.
I'm bleeding in places much deeper than my-

I'd say the word
But i'll refrain.

Instead of being taught to embrace,
I've learned to revel

Instead of
And unique.

Instead of taking agency,
I'm treated like an antique.
Even though i've survived
Everything men told me...

(I'll leave you to ponder but
won't describe. )

I love being a woman,
But it's a love/hate relationship
I can't lie. 
I take pride
But when my head hits the pillow,
I do cry.

In fact, I mourn.

I mourn the excitement society had for me when I was born.
Now i'm rejected,
Because of children i haven't ejected,
Penises i haven't erected,
a husband i haven't selected.

A pariah if you will,
But i have my own will.
Something women are shamed for because we feel,
Feel the need to take back our power
Because if we don't,
Someone else will,
Tell us
What to wear,
How to heal,
**** our souls until we cant feel,
Leaving us empty
Alone and afraid
Only to arrest us for a parade.
I love being a woman
But my heart is in pain,
I find solace in the depths of a woman,
So I know i'll remain...
Petra Dec 2021
I just realized: I am in mourning. I am mourning the loss of my life right now.
A trans man posted that he was mourning the loss of the boyhood that he never had.
I am mourning the loss of a gender-free childhood I never had. I am mourning that I have to cover who I am. I mourn what I could have but don’t. I mourn.
I have lost so much time. For almost a year I have known I am genderqueer, but have kept silent at home. I am mourning what I could have had if the world had been easier; if the world had been kinder, gentler to me. If only the world could show love.
I feel my identity is unloved in my home. I feel it is highly politicized, dehumanized, unreal, not palpable in the air which we all breathe at the dinner table together.
I AM REAL I shout! See me for I am so real. Hear and feel me for my skin is true, my mind is true; I am real and I sit here with you.
I am mourning the loss of a childhood I never had. I mourn the loss of kindness I never had.
Please be kind. I promise I will always be kind.

In my arms, my dear child, you are not a political piece, you are not a distant figure - distant yet still held so closely in my arms and cradled like a child. There will be none of that. You are simply one whom I love, and I am yours in return.
Please love me for who I am. I am only human, I can only take so much.
I don't want to be your figure, I want to be your child. There is such a big difference.
LC Aug 2021
warm, bright words don't reside in your heart.
an ice wall blocks the way as they depart.
a shy, humble smile, "oh, it's no big deal,"
and those words are suddenly forced to kneel.
the icicles ***** your weary shoulders,
forming gashes, leaving you so much colder.

too much warmth? you burst into flames.
too little? you're frozen and maimed.
your hands, scarred and worn,
rub in vain, ready to mourn
as you look over the wall
to stare at the glow that enthralls.
Taylor St Onge Jun 2021
I’m in the dream again:                not the one I had while awake in
the catacombs of St. Callixtus in Rome.  Where the darkness was
so impenetrable that it began to echo.  To look like the mixture of colors
that burst when you rub your eyes too hard for too long.  Like the
neuron rupture before death.  To shape and morph and become liquid.
Where the darkness cobbled itself into a physical form.

Not the dream where                    I kept seeing
flits of my mother out of the corner of my eye.  Behind
                                                                ­                               every street corner.
                                                                ­                   Every turn.  Every tunnel.  
      Reflected in the casts of the bodies in Pompeii.
Mirrored in the waves of the Trevi Fountain.

I’m in the dream where          the soil churned from the bottom to the top.  
                               where          the hand outstretched from the grave.  
                               where          my grandfather clawed his way out and returned to my grandmother﹘sopping wet, covered in thick mud, socks torn, skin sallow and jaundiced, spitting out the wire the embalmers put in his mouth, melting makeup, and ravenously hungry.  And it’s been so
                                                                ­                   long since he was hungry.  

“He came back to me, Taylor,” my grandmother tells me. 
“He came back to me.”
                                        I don’t have the heart to tell her that he’s undead.  
                                        I’m physically unable to spit out those words.
And it’s a dream and it’s a dream and it’s a dream,                   but
it just fits so perfectly.  That he would come back to her.  
That death would not be a barrier.  I can’t explain it.                It just is.  
My grandmother is a shell without him.  
The body that’s missing the limb.  
The body that keeps score.
write your grief prompt 10: amorphous prompt
Sergio Gonzalez Mar 2021
I’m mesmerized,
By your scarlet hue
You stand so confident
Because you know you’ll bloom

Everything about you seems so perfect
Like you’re a living dream
It’s so alluring,
Your beauty is so simple, so elegant
No need for customizing

The world is so vivid when I’m with you
I’m more mesmerized for who you are
You’re so rare
You’re my shooting star

Oh shooting star
Where have you gone
I’ve been looking for you
For forty days and forty nights

My world has turned to gray
So colorless, so empty
This is what I feared of the most,
My biggest nightmare

Change is a part of life
I lost my heart
And I fear I may never get it back
The worst has come
And I now mourn the past
These happy moments,
They never last
SquidInk Feb 2021
these poems express the words i fail to speak
loneliness i fail to admit
moments i fail to remember
sadness i fail to move on from
heartbreak i fail to accept
loss i fail to mourn
TheWitheredSoul Feb 2021
You preached love to a heartless being and you clipped its wings right when it wanted to fly with you.
Are you the angel that I deserve, dream and desolately mourn along till the end of my days?
You drew a thin line accross the dominion of my soul body and mind, wish i presumed more than I did, Somehow I missed all the subtle clues of what the future held for us and now its all aloof with your voice in my head and all the places we went.
Anemone Feb 2021
Do you know what it’s like,
to finally have your life the way you want it
just to have it torn from your fingers as you scream and cry for help?

What does my life matter to you?
Love, loss, it’s all part of life they say
Why am I in black and blue, red tainting my clothes?
Why can I not dwell in the yellow and light as she did?
Why did he stay in the dark, just as I have?
Can I leave the dark?

What am I supposed to say to his family?
What am I supposed to say to them all?
I can’t let go, and I can’t move on.
And neither should you.

So why do you?
Why do you bury him away and pretend that none of his faults existed?
The boy I knew wasn’t a saint!
Far from it!
He was a messed up, depressed, annoying little *******!
And he was my friend!
I can’t just say goodbye after that.
This is a first draft excerpt from one of my old script projects.
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