The thing about love is that
     It is strategically tragic,
Built to last, made to make you feel,
Feel good and alive, to feel enough,
     Gracefully and sudden
Like a gentle kiss, the spreading
Of wings of the soul, the fall
     Of listless stars, but
          Just as lasting.

I do not know what else to feel
Upon seeing this ocean, except
To remember you with the same
     Natural feeling, inexplicable,
Like the color blue catches on
     With the bleach of white,
Aiming to accentuate, searching
     For the old burn of red
          In vain.

And beauty is felt more
     Than it is seen. Eyes have
Seen more than they have rested,
And they have seen things best,
     While they are closed.

More than sorrow, pain and suffering,
More than sure looped-goodbyes,
     It is the serendipitous affection
That rules over all, overthrowing
The flowing madness of passing worlds,
Passing all the lovers by, mad enough,
     And mad still, yet the fight
          Is worth loving for.

Love is worth fighting with.
Life is worth it. Love
Is priceless, yet, I love you
A little less
     Than love itself.

Love never grew, it just stays beside,
Just beside, them, us, blown
     By the havoc of life, fate and time,
Drifting amongst the drifters
Surrounding us, dizzied,
     Ever-tested, enduring all.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Whatever happened to bisexuality? You either choose one or the other. Well, *******. I exist. Feminicity and masculinity are partners in crime. I guess I'm two in one. I'm not better than you, but I'm sure better than most. In the end though, I love you. Even if the hate builds up,  I ******* love you.

Purple has always been my favorite color.
Mixed with Red, the color of passion,
And Blue, the color of dreams.

Ever since I was a child, I’ve loved purple.
“Dark purple” I would add, “With sparkles”
I had to specify, and toss in a cute giggle.

I was so young then. So innocent and naïve
I didn’t know that purple could symbolize something
Something like peoples’ rights.

That was back in the days when “gay” was just a word
Often appearing in Christmas songs
I always knew it to mean, “happy.”

So, when I heard that two men were gay
I was happy, because that must mean that
They’re happy.

When I got older, I learned that happy as those men may be
Others weren’t happy for them.
People weren’t happy that these men were gay.

I never saw anything wrong with it.
I was not gay, but I was supportive.
I didn’t care what other people liked.

Then the term, “bisexual” came up
And that blew my mind.
People could like men and women?

No! I was straight! Of course I was.
I didn’t like women, but I didn’t care if you did
I liked men. That was that.

And then there came the fatal attraction
Nearing me towards bisexuality,
And I embraced it.

All of the sudden, I liked men and women.
Without even realizing that it was in me,
I realized I liked them.

My mother was shocked, but supportive.
My father was the same.
My brother still doesn’t know.

My friends were all excited for me.
Some were confused.
Even a year after realizing it, some couldn’t tell.

Some thought I was joking. Some still do.
But nope, I was not.
I was bisexual.

I grew up Catholic, and I knew
That God loved all his children,
And every creature great and small.

And I believe this;
If God made me, wouldn’t he want me to be happy
With whoever I want?

If Heaven is that cold,
Then maybe I want to be cradled
In the warm fires of Hell.

If God is our father
Satan is our Uncle
Our gay uncle apparently.

Man. Woman. I just don’t care,
So long as they love me for me
And I love them for them,

I couldn’t be happier.
One day I will find someone, but I don’t know
If it will be a male or female.

But it will be someone.
And I will always wave the purple flag proud.
Free and happy.

I was encaged.

at the filligree age of 13
I told my childhood friend I had fallen
for the way freckles fell like sawdust on her teacup skin
and
the way her lips blushed around a cigarette that always burned too
close to the filter

In that town, with bleeding jaw
town like funeral bells
all were straight until proven otherwise.
in that town
ALL WERE SAFE UNTIL PROVEN OTHERWISE.
In 1892
the word bisexual was first used for being sexually attracted to both
women and
men.

Bisexuality does not explain
falling in love with fire.

It all began with a ‘he’
he who said I was pretty
  when my face turns sideways and
  the right amount of sunlight casts shadows
  on the planes of my cheeks
he who kissed me in 6th grade
  in front of my best friend – whom he used to date,
  his lips were cool and moist
  moist – it didn’t feel anything.
he who requested love songs during our high school intramurals
  when all of my friends and all of his friends
  cheer us up like we were the sweetest thing they’ve seen.
he who danced with me the whole night of our junior prom,
  my shoes dangling behind him, my arms and his arms were sweating
  he whispers now, “You look beautiful.”
he who gave me wilting flowers on the 15th of February
  because I skipped school – too scared to face the truth
  that no one would do what he just did. He proved me wrong.
he who said “I love you” too late.
he who said “I love you” too early.
He who made me believe that fate, destiny, sparks, forever, and all that *******
  were real, written in His holy book. Should I still believe in you?
he who said would wait – the next month telling me he realized
  it wasn’t me he was waiting for.
he who told me to stay.
he who left. he who never went back.
and oh – he
he who was never here in the first place.

it all began with a “she”
she who danced in front of the class
  with all her sass, snaps, and we laugh.
she whose hair used to be straight
  swaying down her waist, flows smoothly when she walks,
  falls perfectly down her collarbones. Let’s not start with collarbones.
she whose eyelids flutter like butterfly wings
  making the ones inside my stomach dance like hummingbird’s wings
  her eyelashes are thick, outlining her brown eyes – her perfect brown eyes.
she who throws he head back when she laughs
  not knowing I drift and crash back to the sea
  like a wave thrown back by her chuckles and laughter
she who reads and reads tons of books
  when she could write about her day
  and that’ll still be the greatest stories I could read
she who held me close when she stumbles towards the bus station
  when she’s drunk
she who wanted nothing between us – worried it will not work.
but she made the raindrops of yesterday meaningful
  so it could wash off all the hurt from everything, from everyone.
she who changed me. – no.
she who made me face the mirrors I’ve been running away from
  all those lies I’ve been hiding alone
  all those pain, all those bad memories
she washed them all away, like a hurricane
   she dragged my whole town with her
she who made me forget.
she who makes me ache at times but it’s the kind of ache
  you’d gladly take – a suffering worth all the suffering
she who outshined all of – in the best possible way I could imagine
she who made the stars insignificant.

It doesn’t end with a ‘he’
It doesn’t end with a ‘she’
it all ends up with a simple ‘who’
that person who will always come through
for you

I learned that love sometimes doesn’t last that long
sometimes it doesn’t even start at all.
But I know one thing, you cannot fight it.
I don’t know where – maybe in his hands
or in her eyes. It will make you move like you
have no choice at all – like a puppet stuck
******* and down nylon strings
by the puppeteer
dictating your life
like you have no choice, at all.