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Betty Aug 7
Pansexual
love the person not their gender
surrender to love in huge amounts
because that’s what counts
Sunset Meadows Mar 2019
Stuck
Behind the scenes
Hidden
In the closet
It’s all the same
I’m stuck
No one supports me
The real me
The one I can only show friends
I don’t want to hide it
Not from my family
But I have to
They wouldn’t understand
They’d just say “I’m being selfish”
Or “I don’t understand”
But I’m not dumb
I understand everything perfectly
I know who I am
And who I like
No one can change that
Hopefully people will accept me
For me
Maybe I won’t have to hide
I can finally be true
Unlike most people
It’s relaxing
Finally knowing
Who I am
The mystery is solved
I know me
Who I am was finally
Revealed
I wrote this about me realizing that I’m a bigender pansexual.
haley Nov 2018
letters
make up
love and
lose
four each
for both in fact
as well as
loving and
losing
six for one
twelve overall
although
the same amount of
anything
does not make it
interchangeable
what code
crafted in my genetic
makeup
by matter itself
in the universe’s
vision
created me
with the
blessing and
curse
to
see myself with
the entire world
beauty of pansexuality
in company with
complete
confusion
behind the
pink
yellow
blue
such color
selective in image
for a concept so
free

love
the one
notion
phrase
expression
that fills the role of
noun
this is
love
verb
i can act with
love
adjective
you are lovely
my
love

i will meet
someone
who like me
puts
phoenixes
to shame
in the number of times
they
die
and are reborn
through
love

it is boundless
built in bone
and flesh
everywhere
no translation necessary
human conduction
men
women
gender placement
or none
when i love
you are
one person
above the
necessary elements of
living
rob the title of
air
water
nourishment
take it and me along with it
‘you’ is substituted
for whoever
i happen to
fall
to
in
for

and when or if
you lose
me
or i you
just know
i break
like
moonlight
through
night
then i get to
love myself
all over again
anew
as dawn

- haley
Melanie Cruz Jun 2016
This country was founded on the idea of being who you are in liberty, yet there are people stuck in closets because the monsters are on the other side and the darkness has become too comforting at this point. The face of death has become too beautiful to want to turn away. We are hidden, dancing around the idea of being hung as perfectly as that shirt that was “too gay”. We are wondering how to propose to the Grim Reaper because at this point, he is the only man who can “make us straight”, at least in my case. Others would give him a blow in exchange for their soul. The asexuals, though, are finding the words to ask death out on a coffee date. We’re all just thinking and wishing. We’re rolling out our blueprints and studying the structure of surviving instead of accepting that we’re different and actually living. The pride that used to live in us died a long time ago. Maybe around the same time we were in the closets writing our suicide notes. For me it was the day my mother said the idea of me having lesbian friends gave her headaches. Let me not even get into how high her blood pressure would rise if I told her she had a pansexual daughter. “Had”. Now I am but a corpse living among the resurrected by Christ and I constantly ask myself when God is going to baptize me. I ask myself when I am going to stop looking like a zombie from the Walking Dead because, ******* it, I never learned the script or signed up for any of this. I never even wanted to be an actress. I wanted to be a singer. I wanted to sing the songs of my love for her and let the paparazzi spread rumors of how I cheated because I’m that ******* hot. Mother, I wanted to be a singer, but you ripped my tonsils out and told me to smile for the camera and look pretty. But mother, have you ever thought of something? What if she’s the only one I want to look pretty for?
Yasha Harkness Jun 2015
My heart is a garden.
In it grow three trees, a few saplings, and

many  many  roses.

which one were you when you said yes
my love
a discovery of pansexuality
Em Jun 2014
I'm sitting in bed
Oppressed,
Drowning in inner turmoil,
Monologuing.
Thinking
I should do drugs
Then I'd look just as bad
As I feel inside.
All bloodshot eyes
And shaking hands,
Secrets spilling from my skin.
I want to OD on the truth,
Get high on revelations
And self-realisation.
I want to bleach my hair
Then shave it off.
I want to be me
And society's expectation of me.
I want to wear dresses
And sweatpants.
I want to be able to say
I am a straight young woman of art
Who dreams of becoming a mother.
But instead,
I am a pansexual, Asian, Christian woman of art
Living in a third world country on the fence about abortion
Who dreams of becoming successful
And self-sustaining.
bucky Jul 2014
i'm sorry about the way i fumble for words and breath, but i just can't catch my death i mean breath
and i'm sorry if this is weird but there are some people who mean more to me than i can express using any number of adjectives
and sometimes it scares me because my body was not made to hold this many hearts
there is impossible love in my fingertips and it will bless anyone who comes near me
i'm sorry for being a dreamer i'm sorry i got so close i'm sorry for holding galaxies in my hands but i want to be just like you when i grow up
and there are supernovas whispering behind your closed eyelids.
you cannot win acceptance from expectation i know this from experience
and maybe it's okay to be a little ****** up but i'm pretty sure my heart shouldn't ache in time with people who don't exist
i'm desaturated, not colorful enough i cannot handle pure cyan or magenta but give me olive,
give me chamoisee and i will breathe a little easier
paintings come in all shapes and sizes and rainbows i painted mine on my hands and fingers
i cannot help it if my acrylics mix with other people's watercolors
this is how i am
sometimes i go up to your front door and do not knock
i hope you will forgive me for this
i'm not in the habit of wasting breath but i will waste death until i have no more seconds and minutes and hours to do so
tell me you love me there is a heart shaped box in my chest
it is sandpaper against your palmprints but you will clutch it, fingers tight
curling in and around like it's a part of you
i'm not a geometry problem that you can solve i'm more complex than that there are wires
buried beneath my skin pumping iron through my body i'm more machine than flesh
but that doesn't mean i can't feel your hand in mine
i measure time in the beats of your heartbeat against mine
you watch me like a car crash, like i'm moving in slow motion but you still can't keep up
compartmentalize your love songs and love letters and love
your heart will stop beating if you just tell it that it can't feel anymore
i am a sea of compromises this was not the first one i have had to make and it will not be the last
but i promise you that when we're dust blowing through the desert
a thousand and one lifetimes away,
i will remember every second of you
and we will be constellations sewn into the galaxy
another fairy-tale to be read at night when our fears are loudest
and i will press my fingers to your neck to show you that your heart is still beating
i am a rainbow paint me onto your blank canvas like this is the last time we'll ever see each other
i'm not scared of how i am i'm just like everybody else
it's not my fault that i have love pulsing through my body like tidal waves
paintbrushes are rough against my rocky craters but i love them just the same
i will love you just the same.
when i saw you it took my death away

— The End —