I often wonder what it must be like to not feel constantly isolated by those who claim to claim you, so-called alliances crumbling when they realize your nature cannot be changed. there are no rainbows in pastel skies, and they love us until we are no longer PG no longer PC. love is love until you love like me
There is a disconnect between my body and my mind. At least, that's what I tell people. Because I find it easier to admit that I am broken than to open myself to their ridicule as I try to explain asexuality one more time.
It's hard, to describe an absence of something you've never felt to those for whom it defines their existence. I don't understand their resistence, logic dictates that just because one thing is true, that doesn't eliminate the validity of it's reflection. It has become this society's obession to portray us only as a lie, a sickness you are lucky not to be infected with.
Though I am still struggling to find my voice and understand my own mind, I am sure of one thing: I am not BrOkEn. And if you are like me, please, don't let your pride be stolen, because neither are you...
There is nothing wrong with being Asexual. You are beautiful and worthy of love and place in this world.
If you are a member of the LGBTQ+ community, and you are still looking for home, trust me, there are good people out there who will accept you for who you are. Sometimes, you just have to find them. I promise you, we are out there and we can't wait to meet you.
Growing up in a culture where you are not supposed to exist, you become accustomed to the generosity of people trying to fix you, to force you into a shape they can understand.
I did not know how exhausting it was, trying to remain elastic in a world that demands us to be static, trapping us in binary boxes where we wilt in our confinement but, against societal expectations, we refuse to suffocate ourselves for your comfort.
Together, we will stand in the light, heads held high with unmatched pride for we have fought too long and too hard for our right to be here to live silently with our heads bowed low any longer.
My contribution to celebrate pride month this year.
I don’t really know where I fit In the grand scheme of things Nothing seems to be ‘it’ I’m not lesbian or straight But I love in between I don’t think I see gender It just depends on your reality I want to hold a woman But I love holding onto my man I guess I’m just curious To understand how it feels To love a familiar figure in my arms To explore what that means Because love is love I guess someday I’ll find where mine lies In the six colours of the rainbow I’m sure it resides.
I am thirteen when the mean girls call me weird— I do not shave I do not wear makeup. I do wear basketball shorts and messy ponytails. I am pressured to be her— Aria. I shave relentlessly for the next two years.
I am fifteen full of discomfort and anger breaking my bones like they are glass reckless rage— all reckless no brave depraved of a home inside my own skin.
I am fifteen when I learn what gender dysphoria is.
I am fifteen when I realize I am a boy that I always have and will be a boy.
I am fifteen— putting holes in wall and overdosing on advil like it is a sport championing my own self demise.
I am fifteen afraid and closeted— I write my name as ALEX on my school assignments I always change it back before I turn them in.
I am fifteen convinced everyone loves the girl I am not and will never love me as the boy I actually am.
I am sixteen crying on the floor of a psych ward this is my fifth hospitalization in fourteen months. Pretending to be her is killing me. I choke back tears as I tell my mom that I am transgender. She tells me she loves me, and she saw me writing ALEX on my papers.
It will take five years for her to let her daughter go.
I am seventeen when I am shoved to the floor in a men's bathroom slammed and slurred across the tile— It will not be until six months into Hormone Replacement Therapy that I use the men's public restroom. I am eighteen when my moms boyfriend of the time pulls me aside and tells me I am making a mistake. He would wear his mothers dresses and heels, hiding in her closet all of this is to say this is a phase. When people say that this is a phase— I am sixteen sobbing on linoleum floors covered in cuts wanting nothing more than death if I have to pretend to be her for more than one second longer.
I am nineteen hopeful and naive. Voice cracking and hair sprouting I am coming into my own body. I have learned that there are things much worse than needles.
I am twenty out of the ashes of abuse and trauma I am finally becoming the man I have always been meant to be.
your kisses, gentle or messy, have the ability to make me happy for an entire week. your touch, soft or grip, has the ability to strip the breath from my body distract me from life. your smile has the ability to free my thoughts of sadness. your laugh has the ability to force my mouth into a smile. i wish i could lay with you until my lungs lack oxygen until my heart can no longer beat until my lips can no longer meet yours until my body can no longer wrap around yours until you no longer long my love for you
Hollow The difference of being empty and void is the middle part The void tells you there's nothing there Empty means something is lacking Something is not here Hollowed-out means emptied out Like a smile fading Tears falling Heart breaking
Full Abundance is what it is The many the merrier, the more the richer Fill me with peals of laughters Of handkerchiefs to wipe the oceans in my eyes Make my heart full of you