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i think i've always known i've loved you — in smudged postscripts in the next page of a letter, in the secrecy of bated breaths, and lonely, sunset afterthoughts. i think i've always known i've loved you, and to be able to say this now without fear or cowardice or equivocation: i've loved you, in past and in present tense — it's magic. it's transcendent. it's freeing, and free-falling, and stepping into the warmest summerlight. it's us — in subversion of poetry, yet just as beautiful, my love — and just as poetic.

i think i've always known i've loved you — in smudged postscripts in the next page of a letter, in the secrecy of bated breaths, and lonely, sunset afterthoughts. i think i've always known i've loved you, and to be able to say this now without fear or cowardice or equivocation: i've loved you, in past and in present tense — it's magic. it's transcendent. it's freeing, and free-falling, and stepping into the warmest summerlight. it's us — in subversion of poetry, yet just as beautiful, my love — and just as poetic.
saturn Apr 21
i wanna stand on the pier with her
staring out at the lake
and i wanna push her in
and then jump in behind her
she’s short
and she’s barely tall enough
for her mouth
to be above the water
i wanna hold her
her legs around my waist
and kiss her
while counting her freckles
i want to look out at the lake
look out at this town
with all the people who would stone us
and let them see us
i just wanna kiss her
Kitten Yvad Apr 13
I HAVE COME to believe over and over again that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood. That the speaking profits me, beyond any other effect. I am standing here as a Black lesbian poet, and the meaning of all that waits upon the fact that I am still alive, and might not have been. Less than two months ago I was told by two doctors, one female and one male, that I would have to have breast surgery, and that there was a 60 to 80 percent chance that the tumor was malignant. Between that telling and the actual surgery, there was a three-week period of the agony of an involuntary reorganization of my entire life. The surgery was completed, and the growth was benign.

¶ 3
But within those three weeks, I was forced to look upon myself and my living with a harsh and urgent clarity that has left me still shaken but much stronger. This is a situation faced by many women, by some of you here today. Some of what I ex-perienced during that time has helped elucidate for me much of what I feel concerning the transformation of silence into language and action.

¶ 4
In becoming forcibly and essentially aware of my mortality, and of what I wished and wanted for my life, however short it might be, priorities and omissions became strongly etched in a merciless light, and what I most regretted were my silences. Of what had I ever been afraid? To question or to speak as I be-lieved could have meant pain, or death. But we all hurt in so many different ways, all the time, and pain will either change or end. Death, on the other hand, is the final silence. And that might be coming quickly, now, without regard for whether I had ever spoken what needed to be said, or had only betrayed myself into small silences, while I planned someday to speak, or waited for someone else’s words. And I began to recognize a source of power within myself that comes from the knowledge that while it is most desirable not to be afraid, learning to put fear into a perspective gave me great strength.

¶ 5
I was going to die, if not sooner then later, whether or not I had ever spoken myself. My silences had not protected me. Your silence will not protect you. But for every real word spoken, for every attempt I had ever made to speak those truths for which I am still seeking, I had made contact with other women while we examined the words to fit a world in which we all believed, bridging our differences. And it was the concern and caring of all those women which gave me strength and enabled me to scrutinize the essentials of my living.

¶ 6L
The women who sustained me through that period were Black and white, old and young, lesbian, bisexual, and heterosexual, and we all shared a war against the tyrannies of silence. They all gave me a strength and concern without which I could not have survived intact. Within those weeks of acute fear came the knowledge – within the war we are all waging with the forces of death, subtle and otherwise, conscious or not – I am not only a casualty, I am also a warrior.

¶ 7
What are the words you do not yet have? What do you need to say? What are the tyrannies you swallow day by day and attempt to make your own, until you will sicken and die of them, still in silence? Perhaps for some of you here today, I am the face of one of your fears. Because I am woman, because I am Black, because I am lesbian, because I am myself – a Black woman warrior poet doing my work – come to ask you, are you doing yours?

¶ 8
And of course I am afraid, because the transformation of silence into language and action is an act of self-revelation, and that always seems fraught with danger. But my daughter, when I told her of our topic and my difficulty with it, said, “Tell them about how you’re never really a whole person if you remain silent, because there’s always that one little piece inside you that wants to be spoken out, and if you keep ignoring it, it gets madder and madder and hotter and hotter, and if you don’t speak it out one day it will just up and punch you in the mouth from the inside.”

¶ 9
In the cause of silence, each of us draws the face of her own fear – fear of contempt, of censure, or some judgment, or recognition, of challenge, of annihilation. But most of all, I think, we fear the visibility without which we cannot truly live. Within this country where racial difference creates a constant, if unspoken, distortion of vision, Black women have on one hand always been highly visible, and so, on the other hand, have been rendered invisible through the depersonalization of racism. Even within the women’s movement, we have had to fight, and still do, for that very visibility which also renders us most vulnerable, our Blackness. For to survive in the mouth of this dragon we call america, we have had to learn this first and most vital lesson – that we were never meant to survive. Not as human beings. And neither were most of you here today, Black or not. And that visibility which makes us most vulnerable is that which also is the source of our greatest strength. Because the machine will try to grind you into dust anyway, whether or not we speak. We can sit in our corners mute forever while our sisters and our selves are wasted, while our children are distorted and destroyed, while our earth is poisoned; we can sit in our safe corners mute as bottles, and we will still be no less afraid.

¶ 10
In my house this year we are celebrating the feast of K wanza, the African-american festival of harvest which begins the day after Christmas and lasts for seven days. There are seven principles of Kwanza, one for each day. The first principle is Umoja, which means unity, the decision to strive for and maintain uni-ty in self and community. The principle for yesterday, the sec-ond day, was Kujichagulia – self-determination – the decision to define ourselves, name ourselves, and speak for ourselves, in-stead of being defined and spoken for by others. Today is the third day of K wanza, and the principle for today is Ujima – col-lective work and responsibility – the decision to build and maintain ourselves and our communities together and to recognize and solve our problems together.

¶ 11
Each of us is here now because in one way or another we share a commitment to language and to the power of language, and to the reclaiming of that language which has been made to work against us. In the transformation of silence into language and action, it is vitally necessary for each one of us to establish or examine her function in that transformation and to recognize her role as vital within that transformation.
For those of us who write, it is necessary to scrutinize not only the truth of what we speak, but the truth of that language by which we speak it. For others, it is to share and spread also those words that are meaningful to us. But primarily for us all, it is necessary to teach by living and speaking those truths which we believe and know beyond understanding. Because in this way alone we can survive, by taking part in a process of life that is creative and continuing, that is growth.

¶ 12
And it is never without fear – of visibility, of the harsh light of scrutiny and perhaps judgment, of pain, of death. But we have lived through all of those already, in silence, except death.

¶ 13
And I remind myself all the time now that ifI were to have been born mute, or had maintained an oath of silence my whole life long for safety, I would still have suffered, and I would still die. It is very good for establishing perspective.

¶ 14
And where the words of women are crying to be heard, we must each of us recognize our responsibility to seek those words out, to read them and share them and examine them in their pertinence to our lives. That we not hide behind the mockeries of separations that have been imposed upon us and which so often we accept as our own. For instance, “I can’t possibly teach Black women’s writing – their experience is so different from mine.” Yet how many years have you spent teaching Plato and Shakespeare and Proust? Or another, “She’s a white woman and what could she possibly have to say to me?” Or, “She’s a lesbian, what would my husband say, or my chairman?” Or again, “This woman writes of her sons and I have no children.” And all the other endless ways in which we rob ourselves of ourselves and each other.

¶ 15
We can learn to work and speak when we are afraid in the same way we have learned to work and speak when we are tired. For we have been socialized to respect fear more than our own needs for language and definition, and while we wait in silence for that final luxury of fearlessness, the weight of that silence will choke us.
The fact that we are here and that I speak these words is an at-tempt to break that silence and bridge some of those differences between us, for it is not difference which immobilizes us, but silence. And there are so many silences to be broken.
this isn't on Audre Lorde's HelloPoetry page, and it's not poetry, but it certainly is. This was the 3rd speech I recalled in full from memory in my Public Speaking 101 class, my second semester back at school ...

and I just remember shivering as I read the words Black and Lesbian. I remember shivering trying to imagine working well tired or afraid... but I was working while tired and afraid. Since then her  words have inspired me

to try to find all the words I do not have. And considering the number of apparently non linguistic  thoughts I have; there are so so so so many to find.
Acora Sep 2020
Open-mouthed kisses
may turn it up
They weren’t blisses
but rather, corrupt
I needed ending
And that’s what I got
You needed something
So to you, good luck.
Lilium bulbiferum
any other sapphic women experienced little to no attraction to a guy they were emotionally invested in? just me? ok.
Acora Apr 5
The way I expressed it didn’t fully
Make sense to my dearest
Who only likes men.
I’ve never prescribed to the scrutiny
Eyes of socks eyeing us as they do ****.
I used to see red as a fad that
had past and a warning that I’m
Not desired;
Nor will be, no matter my try.
But I’m realizing now,
Want is deeper than thou who have
wanted me only in theory.
Fruity or trans, and the girlfriend
I have, each is queer and there’s something more in it:
Queers see women the same way
they view art pieces;
So I’ve always been Venus and Ophelia,
The Laddy of Shallot— not some
acquiescent cool-girl
who’ll answer your questions of
public hair and fair children.
Where a woman I knew
sees a woman as through
some mans eyes focused on her *******—
I cut a fringe for the change,
And remain soft in shape
For these are a lover’s desires:
Wear your identity on your sleeve,
In the curve of your arm, on the scent of your hair and upon the pendant at your neck.
Like the romantics do in literature;
After de-centering men,
You can finally be free.
Inspired by the monologue found at
Nelumbo nucifera, or lotus flower— liberation from attachment.
blake Mar 9
when i see a woman
a match gets stuck in my throat
but the fire falls down to my ribcage
and sets ablaze my hay heart
milfs am i right
Ashley Mar 24
we have never experienced as little
as brushing hands
and yet you have
every inch
of my body memorized
Bunny Morris Mar 22
In a sea of people I’d still pick you
I’d pick you endlessly
Because as much as I feel blue
My love for you is an endless sea
No matter how scared we get
I’m never leaving your side
We won’t have that mindset
Because I could never say goodbye
There is nothing that could make me leave
My love for you is endless
I’m here until I no longer breathe
You’re stuck until I’m breathless
Your beauty knows no bounds
It’s unbelievable to some
Your voice a heavenly sound
Look how far we have already come
For as long as I am here
I will always be by your side
You cannot make me disappear
I’m here for you, day or night
If you ever need me I’m only a text away
No matter how near or far
Whether I am asleep or awake
We’re both under the same stars
Bunny Morris Mar 22
Her smile has the power of a hundred stars
Her chuck hazel eyes, warm from even afar
Her squint when she smiles is undoubtedly beautiful
Her voice is far more than musical

She spends all day and night in my head
She makes me turn all shades of red
She makes me un believably happy
She makes me want her to be mine so badly

Her lips makes me want to be there to kiss her
Her existence never fails to make me miss her
Her beautiful eyes deserve a place in the sky
Her pale skinned body, delicate as a butterfly

She is special means everything to me
She helps make me want to continue to breathe
She makes me crave her warm embrace
She makes me desperate to kiss her face

She lives so far but we feel so close
She will always be my beautiful rose
~ for Skylar, I love you
Acora Mar 12
must dedicate myself to you
Somehow, by staying mine,
Sustaining that which you have loved,
instead of unbalancing us.
I'd never want your lips gone,
or the shine that's in your eyes,
so I'll upkeep my quiet side,
the shimmer in my hair,
to give you me as I still am--
your person while I'm mine.
The false spiraea represents dedication and patience for a loved one.
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