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Kai Sep 19
a different love
platonic and familial
but never ******
clio burns Sep 18
i feel free
lacking fear
of who i am
and of who i have become

and then i double back
like a lost
retracing my steps

and then i am back
at the
unsure and afraid

i cannot allow myself to feel
i am far too
of the box that others put me in
so i put myself
in a brand new box
so afraid of judgment from
the world
that i judge myself

a torrent of hate spewed at me
a torrent of hate spewed by myself
i come to
every thought that flits through my
and relabeling

afraid to just
Gray asexuality or gray-sexuality (spelled "grey" outside the U.S.) is the spectrum between asexuality and sexuality.[1] Individuals who identify with gray asexuality are referred to as being gray-A, a grace or a gray ace, and make up what is referred to as the "ace umbrella".[2] Within this spectrum are terms such as demisexual, semisexual, asexual-ish and ******-ish.[3]

Those who identify as gray-A tend to lean towards the more asexual side of the aforementioned spectrum.[4] As such, the emergence of online communities, such as the Asexual Visibility and Education Network (AVEN), have given gray aces locations to discuss their orientation.
New Series I Am Working On
Zoe Grace Aug 20
Let me get this STRAIGHT.
Hold on, I'm gonna run this BI you.
I wanna see how this PANs out, ok?
LES just see how this goes.
I need you to TRANSfer those papers.
Come on, I bet you ACEd the test!
It's late and I'm delusional and my sleep deprived brain thinks I'm funny. Shhhh, don't tell me I'm wrong.
I'm a proud panromantic potato btw.
Abigail Aug 15
I am a smooth surface.
I am a number of hiding places.
I am meat, I am bone and
I am anything but my own.
Kylee Aug 12
When you feel the thunder in your thighs
Look up to the sky
And thank only yourself
For being brave enough to allow him passage through your lands
Given the last time you peeked through the gate
It was torn down

               Scorched the trees
               ****** the birds
               Ate the flowers
               And ****** the rivers dry

C O L O N I Z I N G      you

Turning lush forests into the Sahara
You flooded them out

Now feel the cool trickle
Of his hands on your waist
The splash of lips, on your inner thigh
Notice the depth within you
The surge of water deep in your belly
Rushing, rushing, rising
Until it overflows.
For now let me drink your sweet nectar
But remember you decide when to turn off the faucet
Feedback welcomed :)
Iz Aug 7
I need to remind myself that he was not the first
That behind the tree
When I loved being called tween
She was the new memory I suppressed in my jeans
Sun between the trees we leaned to pretend our maturity
See I convinced myself for years that it wasn’t even something to think about
For I didn’t even experience the real thing

Now my mind larger but my innocence almost nonexistent  
There’s a new story
Another boy taller yet still smaller than me
Grew up in a whole different culture than me
We talk for two weeks and I know he likes me
He is too good to have kissed any-body
But I with to many events to fit underneath me
I’m to scared to be remembered as something
So when he hands me flowers I know what he will ask
I say yes for I can’t stop (t)his memory
The Hong Kong boy who’s flowers died in my sink
One day I'll write all of these poems into little books
Hide all these places in little nooks
And these faces into looks
That I can no longer show
Cause I took too much
And left little to sow
My earth is bare
Cause no flowers grow
But I shaved it
a moment more
Then maybe I would have seen
What could have been green without envy and greed
Just a seed that grew from a lack of seed
I can plead with myself but my ears are deaf to empty threats
Empty regrets
Resetting in my head like a record on replay
The slight delay drives me crazy.

I used to read my poems out loud
But now the rhythm is gone
It's on repeat
We reap what we sow
And I sewed salt into my wounds.
Eleni Jul 18
The bee was forbidden from kissing flowers.

Out of the hive, she found her free will. Though
her wings fluttered under heavy turbulence.

Amazed, by the liberty that flowers held in petals, all around
She began to work on arousing subjects, in the playground.

Irises, roses, fuschias and sunflowers.
Purple, red, pink and yellow- for endless hours.

Her mouth met many lips, sensing negative charges
She finally understood that natural energy was harmless.

Satiated, by her existential discoveries in The Garden
She returned to the tall trees to receive her pardon.

But along the path home she was surrounded.
The colours melted and mixed into grey and brown.

Unable to control the velocity to self-discovery,
Wary droplets of perfume sprayed in cries.
It was then she found her guise,
Judged by those who told lies,
Reached into her abdomen and prised,
No fail-safe to catch her from the skies.
Shakti Asana Jul 18
He wants me
He says.

Don't they all?

I am tired of being wanted.
I am tired of being needed.

You have yourself a passel of kids
Out your own wahoo --
You wouldn't want to be wanted neither.

Don't want me.
Don't need me.

Bring me flowers and roses
And mix tapes
And doughnuts
On Sunday morning.

Kiss me.
Sweep me up in your arms.
Look me in the eyes.

That would send me.

Bring me.
Send me.

Don't want me.
Don't need me.

The want and the need make me tired.
The bring and the send makes me free!


He, too, is tired of being wanted and needed.

What are we to do?

Want and need one another?

Too many competing demands.

Take my hand.
Just tell me you love me.

Don't want me.

Don't need me.

Just love me.

And I will just love you.
"Expectations are premeditated resentments."
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