Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
zero Jul 2018
I've grown up so scared
in the past.
Forced to grow in habitats unknown
to myself or friends.
I feel within every fibre of
my being; the aching boredom of
being awake.
My body holds so much sadness,
but under layers of skin
and muscle and deep
cuts there is a softness
needed to be rediscovered.
I only mean well, but
when scared, I say things
that upset people in the hopes
of pushing them away
yet pulling them closer.
My shell is tough and uncrackable,
but if trusted, I poke my head out
now and again to show you
a smile
or a tear,
once in a while.
Cancer is the best zodiac sign- hands down.

-Zero.xo
Harri Jul 2018
I am a woman.
Or so I'm told.
But how can I be a woman,
When the me in the mirror
Doesn't match the me in my head,
Because I just can't comprehend
Seeing ****?
When I want to peel my skin off
Because it itches at the seams,
Of the stitched in expectations
Of my ***?
When the people all around me
Laugh and say “it's natural”
When I dare to express my discomfort,
And it seems I'm the only one
Who struggles with the day to day
Of existing as a “miss”,
And my name doesn't fit unless it's shortened?
So I strap down my chest
So you can't see it.
But still my face screams woman,
And my voice
And my hips
And that ever ******,
Mother ******* “MISS”.
I know my **** are still there,
Their discomfort physical now,
Not just a mental ache.
And every month I bleed,
And it's like my body's betraying me.
But the whole world says that's just the way it is.

I'm tired of the way it is.
I'm tired of your boxes.
I climb out of one
To be kicked into another,
Not a woman, fine.
So I must want to be a man?
I must want to join the ranks
Of the people that have disgusted me,
Debased me
And repulsed me?
Of the people making sport
Of the gender I have lived with?
No.
No.
I won't live with a gender,
With your ******* expectations,
Or your games
Or your stupid little boxes.
Pink,
Or blue?
I LIKE ******* BOTH.
I want hairy legs,
But not a hairy chest.
I don't want ****,
But I don't want a ***** either.
I want long hair,
Without assumptions I'm a girl.

I want to exist outside society.
It's broken.
Luzita Pomé Jul 2018
You call me
She, Her, Daughter, Girl
Shhhhh...
You speak with a blind mouth,
Look at me, see me
She isn't me,
Only a fantasy that you clutch till your knuckles grow pale.
I am not broken, I am free
But you hide behind a veil
Afraid to finally let go of...

Long hair, Lipstick, Lace dress
You question each time I show you my truth,
"Are you trying to hide your femininity?"
No, my femininity is simply not my definition.
Spend a day in my skin, in my cage,
And don't cry when the words start to pierce you like daggers,
Shhhh... Stay silent, don't worry, it's just a phase.
Now do you see that "She" just doesn't make sense?
You speak to me but your voice seems distant,
Bouncing off of me and echoing
Like I am the hollow statue of the girl you used to see.
"I am right in front of you, you know"
But my words are only heard when they come from her lips.
Do you see me now?

Mother, Children, Wife, Woman
A silent prayer each night for all the things I am not,
Stomach swollen, hair to my waist
The glow of an expecting mother on my face.
Curves, not edges,
Pink, not blue.
Delicate hands grasping the man who stands in my place.
Do you see me now?


Pants swollen, hair to my brow,
Along my jaw,
Down my legs,
Sprouting from my toes.
Do you see me now?
Bulged, Buzzed, Boy
Blood on my sheets, not between my legs
Stained by the girl who lies in her place
Fresh coat of gel and cologne,
Swirls of shaving cream.
Bare chest, Burning skin
Twitch of an Adam's apple when breath comes short,
Nervous fidgets with a tie,
tick tock,
"Pick me up at eight"
"Treat her right" "I will sir"
"Will you be my..."
"You're going to be a father!"
"You are the best daughter we could have asked for"
...."Son" I whispered.
But you didn't hear,
Please tell me
Do you see me now?
Any one who can relate to this but can’t say it, I hope I can be your voice.
Sara Kellie May 2018
You've been the roof above my my head.
You've been the pillow on my bed.
The bubbles in my bath, the tonic to my wrath.
All this you were and this you still are.
You could've escaped, you could've gone far.
You're the first to call, you make my problems small.
Just one thing though!
You still call me Paul.

Poetry by Kaydee.
Natalie and I were married in January 2007 . . . . and still are!
Johnny Noiπ Jul 2018
when            Tony                                        got  hot
he blushed all over;
suddenly                 looking                  like he        
was wearing a full face      of             makeup;  his
high          cheeks grew red &
he'd                 bite his lower lip til
it bled; &                         for a surprisingly    short
second he    stopped       being
an enforcer  & was a hot babe |              before he'd
commence     to beating ur ***
Sara Kellie Jul 2018
She's spent all the rent on
cigarettes and cider,
so pull out your **** and put
it inside her.
No need to bring your polished game,
for this one's a **** and that
is her name.
In her **** or up her ***.
The choice is yours,
where d'ya wanna ***?
Say "You ******' ****, get down on all fours, 'cause this is how I **** little ******!
Impale her on your hardened stick and explode inside her, creamy and thick.
Bangin' her *******,
it used to be tight.
It's not anymore,
it gets wider each night.
Then when you're done,
wipe the rest up her back,
letting her know most got
shot up her crack.
Next week she'll be suckin',
an appetizer before ******'
This **** she don't care,
for a TGirl with red hair.

*******
Poetry by Kaydee.
Just a creative imagination, I guess.
;)
Sara Kellie Jul 2018
Ladies, ladies, ladies,
in all shapes and sizes.
Some like no other
in malesque disguises.
There's more if you know
where to look down below.
From a soft,
sausage snake,
long and hard,
you can make.

Poetry by Kaydee.
A light hearted, fictional look
at todays ladies.
Written by a woman since her youth
who grew into her truth.
Sara Kellie Jul 2018
She's a new born under
protective cover,
with a shield like no other from her
umbilical Mother.
Covered from head to toe by the
artists jacket.
In clear polythene for you to admire,
not attack it.
Or the mobster paid in Lira to stop
anyone going near her,
when all that she needs
is the unconditional love
from the bosum that
feeds her.

Poetry by Kaydee.
Written by Kaydee,
a woman with no womb.
R Sep 2018
Tell me I’m crazy
Tell me the truth
Tell me I’m hell bent on approval
I slather on pride as a sticky sunscreen to try and hide the scars

Tell me I’m crazy
Tell me I stay up at night terrified
I have everything to be afraid of
Tell me I’m crazy.

I need you to tell me I’m crazy
To tell me the truth
I hide in the shadows and can’t be dragged out
Tell me I’m crazy

Tell me I’m alone
That I’m a singular ink blot in perfect cursive because
Life would be so much easier if I had an excuse for all this
Tell me I’m crazy.

Tell me it’s okay
Because at night when I lie awake
Scared of shooters and secrets and fire and friends
I need to know I have a future
Tell me everything

Tell me everything because
I’m tired of being cast to the side, the footnote of an essay, tell me everything
Because I need to know

Tell me I’m loved
Because when I sit under my desk and watch 10 become 12 in the reflection of the blade I use so often
I need to know

Tell me this is a phase
That tomorrow I can wake up
And smile and make my life
Happy and be normal
Tell me this is a phase

Tell me this is normal
That everyone goes through this
Tell me I’m alone
That I have a reason for this all
Tell me it goes away with time
That I have a future worth living
Tell me this is a phase
That I can be normal soon
Tell me everything
That you know how I feel
Tell me I’m loved
That you feel the same way
Tell me I’m crazy
Tell me that it’s okay.
Tell me the truth.

Because in the shadows I have everything to be afraid of.
Alone?
Next page