Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sh Sep 2020
They say we are like beasts in the night;

Senseless and wild.
Menacing fangs, ready to devour the world.

In truth, we are like wolves;

Untamed with teeth to rip apart all who dares threaten our packs.

With furs to cuddle the biting cold away, sharp ears and eyes to pick up on the first signs of danger.

In truth, we are like cats;

Finding our home back from the streets,

Or simply knowing how to get away from the hand that feeds nothing but pain.

In truth, we are like rats;

Blamed for a disease we do not have,

Deemed filthy and wretched by all who refuse know us.

In truth, we are like crows;

Beloved by the outcasts,

Flock together into groups, loyal with a love that can bring gods down.

In truth, we are like mint;

Impossible to get rid of, no matter how many of us you pluck out of this earth.

Persistent and all the more lovely for it.

You say we are like seeds planted in pots;

Destined to settle down the way the gardeners dictated, all other possible futures disregarded.

In truth, we are like the moon;

the phases are nothing but your refusal to see as us a whole.
Sh Dec 2019
My vains, they're coursing with ink from all the words I did not say, from all the details about me I did not care to share.

Because what could I say to make you understand the pain of hiding me away?

The boulder of emotion that drops down and ignites the empty hole where my heart should be every time you speak of a future that I would rather not have at all than go along with your plans.

The flinch I suppress whenever you speak of a husband or kids that I would be forced to bear in your oh so pink future,

Pink that is so bright in your eyes but dark and dripping in mine.

The decision I make as my hands dig into my chest in an attempt to reach up into my heart and relieve the pain of being ashamed of what I am- of who I am.

It's becoming too much!

The waiting
for the perfect moment to let the ink pour from my tongue all over your too clean floor.

The fear of your reaction knowing your liberal approach is only for what you've been taught is right to love and wrong to hate, knowing that you do not want to learn and believe in anything you deem as new.

The step back I take as I ask myself;
"Is it really worth it?"

Telling myself that I don't owe you ****.

You have sowed the seeds of self hate with your casual heteronormativity in my mind and now you have no right to its flowers whose colorful petals I have struggled to maintain.

But even back here, it's getting hard to ignore the spark of the possibility of freedom that turned into a fire ready to consume my mind and body.

The hope that you will accept me for simply being me. That you will put down the raging flames of worry in my heart.

The smoke is far too close to my lunges to keep me hidden any longer.

Each breath comes shorter as time goes by, the heavy numbness of a fainting spell on my doorstep.

The answer.

YOUR answer, the part that will either burn me with the scorching shock of your disbelief or will carry me to peace by the black river of your reassurance.

My story,

the one you hear right now,

that will never be finished for the smoke has choked me as the ink came raining down my eyes, down my throat, in a vain attempt to keep the fire at bay.

— The End —