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Dameon Smith Dec 2015
Land of the Free
Yet ranks 20th in the world
Land of the Free
Unless you aren't
White, rich, and male
Unless you aren't
Christian or Atheist.
Slam the borders!
Americans insist
Keep them out!
Let no one in!
Land of the Free
We sing
And chant
Land of the Free
Proud are we
Land of the Free
But not.
requiEM Mar 2017
I was taught to love you from birth
You raised me and taught me, watched me grow
As I'm older, you've changed
Rearranged the priorities I thought you had
I've had a hunger for knowledge for years
I thought you did too

Yet you yell about 'them'
'They're ruining america'
'I don't want them near me'
How did you raise me, how did I not know all this time?

How did you hold me in as an infant, with your arms balled up in fists?
How did you kiss me with poison on your lips?

I am from you, you are in me
Take my blood and let it reach your veins
I am immune to whatever plagues these childhood heroes
Maybe they got lost along the way
I've tried to help, but the poison takes over
Clouds their thoughts, they yell

I've looked up to them for twenty years
twenty ways they've wronged me
twenty ways they've hurt me
and twenty years still, I will love them
Because I will not kiss my children with poisoned lips
The poison stops with me
Thomas EG Jun 2016
Fifty innocent deaths
Are fifty deaths too many
They prove that the world still

Is full of hatred
I have a right to hate it
Proof: This blood spill

And now there is a lack of blood
Yet we are not allowed donate ?
O positive and O negative, oh

Mainly, I am positive that
This needs to change
**I am so sorry, Orlando
At times like this, we must unite and show the world that #lovewins
Fionnuala Lidia Apr 2016
What right have you
To tell someone they are not
Who they know they are.
A person who seems so sure of themselves,
So comfortable.
Tells him,
Someone who questioned himself his whole life,
That he is not who he knows he is?
Seth M P Feb 2016
‘it’ he said
to my chagrin
a lying snake
he was akin

‘it’ she said
he called me so
i had been led
i fill with woe

‘it’ i heard
i’ll show him how
he is absurd
he’ll rue it now

‘he’ not ‘it’
boy has no class
he’s such a twit
again? i’ll kick your-
Dedicated to the a-hole in my gym class. I can't take him in a fight so this is the next best thing.
Cody Haag Jan 2016
The tears streamed from your eyes
Like salty rivers on a quest;
They poured to the ground,
As your secret you confessed.

Your mother held her breath,
Stared at you with kindling, rampant rage;
"You are not a ******* boy,
This is just a phase."

She hides you from me,
Separating us from the intimacy that held us together;
Prevents us from experiencing our love in person,
It is so tender.

The days are passing,
You are hurting inside;
She insults you, blames you,
For being a girl who lies.

The knife inches toward you throat,
Your fingers aching to seal your fate;
But baby, look toward me,
It is never too late.

Hold onto this passion as if it
Is the very water to quench your thirst;
The very food to satiate your appetite,
Fulfill your mirth.

Boy of mine,
Your heart is pure.
Eventually you can slam
In her face the door.

Just hold on,
Take deep breaths;
Self-harm isn't a solution,
Neither is death.
Thomas Hardy Jun 2015
memories of the boxes of masculinity I crammed myself into,
for you,
they are memories,
memories which occupy not only my closet,
but also the lining of my heart,
if you had the faintest idea you’d understand,
those memories burn like embers,
she still doesn’t understand,
memory boxes which hold photos of me,
but are not me,
photos of a girl before testosterone occupied and took control of her body,
a girl before male hormones swam deep into her genetic code,
stripping away what was, a girl,
she still doesn’t understand,
those memories like knives,
cut deep into my skin.  
I can now say blood is a lot thicker than water,
that does not mean the scars on my body tell the happy tale of a family unit, they do not recite togetherness
they do not dance to the rhythm of unity
Instead these scars loosely translate to ‘please mom, help’,
she still doesn’t understand
I cut my chest open for you and bare myself to you
like an open cavity in hope that you’ll understand
that body was a home but I was merely a guest
don’t you get it?
Zach Hanlon May 2015
My my, what a special little snowflake.

Why did you choose to be this way?

You chose to be different, you chose to rebel.
No binary for me!

You chose the grief, the pain.
You chose this abuse, bruised by
the verbal ferociousness, forged by physical fallacies
To be thrown out of bathrooms
because doing your business in the bathroom is abysmal.
You chose to be derided by decisive discrimination.
You chose to be murdered by misconceptions,
***** by ridiculous requirements.
You chose to be beaten, assaulted.
You chose the words I weave to weaken your will.
You chose the sacred sermons I spit at you.

You chose to be
What I find disgusting, despicable
because you chose to be what you aren't,
but I realize what I really regard you to be.

My my, what a special little bigot.

You think I chose to be this way?

You think
I chose the injuring, injustice,
the jester, the joke
the target, tortured,
This pain, my poison,
the prey, praying,
the sinner of sins so bittersweet,
So I could be "special"?

Special isn't a sacrifice of physical self
Nor the gunshots and gruesome grief
Nor even the crass comfort of a half-assed comrade.
You think I CHOSE this,
and you didn't choose
to spit and spew your sour speeches
to disperse your disgust in discrimination
to integrate your ignorance into my existence.
Or did you not choose
to deal the abuse
by your hand

My special little bigot,
You live as you are.

So be it, if I am so "special", the special little snowflake.
Yes, we are the little snowflakes that your palm's presence melts away,
And you're that burning persistence of life
Blocking with your own self our slow, wistful descent,
As if it were futility and not of your own will.

If I am the snowflake, you are the fire.
Kayden T Widmer Feb 2015
Who are you
To tell me what I am?
To tell me who I can be?
Who died
And made you a god?

I'm too girly, you say,
To want to be a man.
Have you looked in a mirror lately?
You call yourself a woman looking like that,
And you dare to judge me?!

Yes I am girly
So are half of the gay men I know.
And we both know I can't even think straight.
So who are you to say
What a man is to be?
Originally written Jan 5th 2015
Peter Davies Jan 2015
I am not an "it",
Not a "what" but a "who".
You look but you don't see me.
I am here, so where are you?

Ev'ry time you call me "girl"
It stabs me in the heart,
You twist the knife with "daughter"
And refuse to play your part.

I wonder, if I died tomorrow
What would my fun'ral be?
Into the earth I'd wear a dress
And bare a mask of "she".

My body is my strangled tomb
And, you, my epitaph:
"Here lies a sister, daughter, friend."
But I lie split in half.

Ev'ry time you call me "daughter",
Ev'ry time you call me "she"
Holds a venomous reception
In the darkest parts of me.

You say that it gets better.
Just a phase and nothing more.
I don't know how you can say that
With my heart spilt on the floor.

Walk o'er my bones in high-heeled shoes,
Kiss my pale skin with blood,
You ***** me with names of she
And wash me in pink mud.

I'm smothered with assumptions
And I'm drowned in prejudice,
A balloon fills up inside me
With ev'ry uttered word of "miss".

So if you wish to watch me die,
Melt away and o'er again,
Then tie me to the threads of girls
And taunt me with ropes of men.
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