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Parker Vance Feb 2021
Years ago, I limestoned
my way through girls,
cool and completely solid.
As they swayed,
sweet and sweat-inducing,
glossed in a perfunctory pink
at the foot of my bed,
I could feel them sinking
all the way through me,
swaying between
my synapses.

But now I'm crepuscular.
I'm seizing as girls
prism in front of me
like sequins,
like fool's gold.
They leave the door unlocked
behind them.

I was once told pyrite
isn't a lie if you know
it's pyrite- if it shows you
all its sides
individually and with care-

but I still wanted them to be solid gold.
Veda Laurenski Jul 2020
Dreams we dream of you and me.
Dreams, a song we sing.
You dreamed our cottage by the sea
And a meal after a swim.

I promise I’ll come home for tea.
And a *** to cook it in.
It has a lifetime guarantee
And recipes for chicken.

Dreams we dream of you and me
Dreams a day of rest.
Paradise a prophecy
Two lovers manifest.
susanna demelas May 2020
what’s your name again / does it even matter / please don’t follow my social media after this / I don’t want to ever see you again anyway, so why would I / why’s that / what does it even matter / you texted me first remember / let’s not get pedantic / I wasn’t being pedantic / you were / stop talking you’re ruining it / oh I’m ruining it / just take your clothes off / can’t we talk first / no you always ruin it when you talk, i preferred it when you were too scared of me to speak / why did you ask me over then, if you hate me so much / just stop talking

instant gratification,
brief euphoria,

taking 23 trips to heaven,
over and over, eyes closed,
forgetting you’re even in the room,
i like it better that way
alone, but you look so pretty like this
please don’t say it. don’t say it. literally, I’m being serious, don’t be that person, keep in it your brain, you’re just high as **** on pheromones (stupid pheromones), none of this is real, i thought you wanted to escape, not to be yourself, oh god, whatever you do, just don’t be yourself

I love you. ****.
Did I just say that out loud?
Apoorv Shandilya May 2017
I am made of the ash
that gets left behind
with burned cigarettes
like hollowed pasts.
Platinum silver.
Just like starlight.
Apoorv Shandilya Feb 2017
Last night, I saw a clear blue sky
In the darkness of the moon
And my lover said
that blue are just the
color of my eyes.

So, I turned and looked at him
But he looked just the same
And my uncultured heart screamed
That I loved him

Two days later, he rings me and says
That his eyes never saw my bleeding sexuality
And was sorry
But my lover always knew
That I am not okay
And I would let the darkness in
In hope of him.

So much for the night sky
And so much for his love.

But my lover, he has no name.
Apoorv Shandilya Feb 2017
I feel ashamed
That the heart that I nurtured
Is now in its stunted form of blossoming
Ever so eternal

My hands
reach out
For the arteries and the bleeding veins
Prying, Prodding with force.

I am crippled, unraveled
My sexuality, bleeding.

But so long as I smile as I walk
and nobody notices me bleeding
None shall stop
Or mutter a word.

To muster enough care for my heart to nurture again
For life, for love, for sensuality.
And for days to come.
But only when, someone shall stop.
- Jul 2016
I've been very vulnerable lately. I am vulnerable, and I'm not sure how to exist within it.

Well, see, society (what is it? It lives and breathes but is often undetected- like a cyborg) tells us that vulnerability = femininity, in order for both to mutually invalidate the other- because in a patriarchal society that feeds on myth, there is no room for either of them, as they provoke questions. But once you're out of the spectrum,  things begin to change.

I'm beginning to view patriarchal systems of oppression as post-apocalyptic worlds - something which, through my interest in science fiction, is important and familiar to me. It makes this life seem equal parts more bearable and more gruesome, because, on one hand, nothing seems real, but on the other, everything appears to be hyper-realistic and predictive of some sort of massive disaster. Oftentimes I'm not sure which to side with.

I'm also keeping a journal of things that I do to make myself feel better & gendering them as society would just to see what I'm like inside. It's interesting to see that I'm a mixture of gendered behaviors, but that pain itself is not gendered.

My trans friend says that's contradictory. He believes that society exists purely without gender, intrinsically, and that since we create gender for ourselves as a means of oppression, I shouldn't be trying to figure out how I relate within that system, but rather attempting to break out of it.

But, hey- better the devil you know than the devil you don't, right?
- Apr 2016
You find patterns
in everything
and I am just beginning to notice this about you.

You watch documentaries,
and tell me all about them.

One was about
a nanny turned photographer
capturing strangers

I like your summaries
better than the stories themselves.

Someday, you, too
will take great photographs
and the world will know your name
before you're deceased.

I'm sure of it.

We walked through a field of glowing grass,
and you tried to touch each blade.

It began to rain,
I wiped a stray droplet onto your nose
and kissed your eyelids.

You laughed at me,
tried to annoy me,
hold my hand in different ways,
push me
off the sidewalk-

I stepped in dog ****
but you insisted
it was human...

I listened to you spin your story
and was reminded of how lovely
it is to peer inside your mind-

My glasses broke tonight
and yet I haven't seen this clearly
in what feels like forever.

I'll tell you "let's do this,"
this time, without any liquor
if it means I'll prove my devotion
to you
and this time
we have together.

I don't care what you call me,
or who knows I exist,

as long as you keep kissing me
with as much electricity
as I felt when I first met you.
Thank you.

— The End —