Some walk the line
Between a woman and a man.
If god got a do-over
Would he do the same again?
Or would some afterthought
Bring about a badly needed change
That causes confusion
So some use the epithet “strange”?

How do people so often ignore
The amazing leaders and creators,
Proof they’ve been shown before
That different people can be world beaters.
People have cheered for decades
Those strong women who compete in sports.
For centuries men of feminine type
Felt they’ve needed to sink to life’s last resorts.

For no reason that makes sense
Parents have dealt unremitting hate to their kids.
Some of them take it personally
As if it is the result of something evil they did.
Demands were made unthinkingly
To change they way they had to behave
And too often the orders came from
The unsuccessful directives of “Jesus Saves”.

So here they are, suffering daily
The children who live as god made them
And society, for no good reason
Chooses to call them names and evade them.
There is nothing wrong with them
These beautiful people living on the line
Who act and live their lovely lives
The way nature has defined.

you don't understand
how much it took for me too finally ask you out
and how happy it made me feel
when you said yes
i was so happy
finally, happy
you told me it was mutual
you felt the same
now it's beginning to feel like a twisted game
you go away on summer camp
you say you're having doubts
i thought you'd at least give us a chance
but it was over before the month was out
why allow me to believe you liked me
when you only saw us as friends?
why allow me to smile and be happy
when you were just waiting for it to end?
what do you expect me to say now
when i'm sat here crying?
knowing you had no intention
of ever really trying
there's nothing more i can say
now than it hurts
and that she won't be the same
because it was me who loved you first

*** sells and I remain broke
My price is your affection and understanding
Which is less expensive than your love

In some lost, moss covered grove, lifeless, she layed…
Then Green Venus tipped her basin, showering
streams of endless water thrashing and splashing
atop her ***** then rushing down her bronzen brae.
Flushed in feminine essence, she opened
her great shell to fill with sumptuous water
‘till it spilled and gushed the ribbed edges over
and onto the soil did Spring’s milk descend.
Drenched and dripping she bursts from dormancy
to embrace her first morning of animation
through misty flurries and fluid gyration
leaving slushy trails of puddles and pollen
and, through dew soaked skies, dawn’s first amber light
Illuminates Spring, fully wakened and alive.

I want to write
But I don't know about what
Something about how they call me a ****
They think I sleep around and round
But my lifestyle isn't that profound
Is it right to shame me?
For exploring my sexuality?
I would say,
no
but they don't tend to hear that word