"alternative" poems
My name is Sara, a transgender chick
Wanted a ***** was given a ****
I hide it in knickers of satin and lace
before sitting down to make-up my face,
Next the prosthetics, I'm using two bits.
Stuck to my chest, they'll do as my ****
Now for my legs I'll put on false tan,
I wouldn't do this if I were a man
Alternative nights, a t-girl delights
to sit on her bed and pull on new tights.
I'll put on a dress, a cute one no less.
Then for my shoes, high heels I choose
A sandal style shoe as every girl knows
not only looks cute, they'll show painted toes
A bit of eyeliner, eyebrow definer,
lipstick and blush, I'm now looking lush.
I stand in the mirror all ready to go,
there's only one question I just have to know.
"Does my *** look big in this?"
Poetry by Kaydee.
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 4:02 PM UTC
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities...
*that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who knows the when and why of differing
cuddling styles...
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who knows when to leave a man alone
alone in his man-mourning time,
distance needed,
letting his ex-rage dissipate or
watching his red and blue football
redefine ignominy...
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when the man low whistles, eyes adrift,
she heartily agrees and is
reciprocity rewarded regularly
with hunk alerts of
"hey-check-him-out!"
that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
a tigress in the bedroom
she asking, try this, I'll love it,
served with a desert demo of awkward afterward,
his less-than-perfect cuddling abilities
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who doesn't abhor partner silences,
comforting they are, in their own ways,
lying side by side, interrupted only by peccadillo body noises unexpected and
sheepish apologies and loving arm stroking
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who lets the man roar, top of voice,
when imprisoned in car,
his voice, un enfant terrible,
performs with Creedence Clearwater
a sing-a-long in traffic, asking
"Have you ever seen the rain"
while amidst Israel-leaving-Egypt
Sunday beach traffic on the L.I.E.
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
when it's pheromones alternative mode day,
he celebrates Carole King day,
she demonstrates her cuddling abilities,
par excellence, with kisses and tissues
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities...
a woman, plain confident in her abilities
no matter the situational status,
when confronted by
less-than-crazy-impetuous,
she smiling says "why not,"
when he proposes,
a movie and dinner in a fav haunt?
"plenty excellent enough" her answer,
spoke in a rising voice
full of unfeigned delight
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
accepting the unexpected airport embrace
on a moving sidewalk, unexpected delays
with the aplomb of a well lived life's
long term sustainability perspective
when he kisses her hand for no reason,
while driving 75 miles per hour,
she only winces internally,
the other hand vise-grasping
the other door's handle,
who brushes hair wisps in a dark movie,
celebrating her Bathsheba Everdeen's
duality of strength and tenderness
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when on second date he proposes
a non-exclusive relationship,
confident enough to high-five respond,
and laugh about it,
seven years on
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when she reads it,
analyzing the oeuvre as
"too **** personal and
as usual
too **** long"*
that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her
cuddling abilities
in everything...
even a little occasional criticism
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 10:45 AM UTC
All strung
out
on
sadness,
empty shells
of needles
that injected
the next defense
to keep me going
splayed upon
the coldness
of metal
somewhere in a place
lower than
the floorboards
of the nether regions
of a private hell,
where no one sees
the truth behind
the doors of
beaten swords
of silken pictures
in frothy shades
of effervescent green
a smiling happy family
in which the
sounds of drowning
can only be
vaguely heard
a faded gurgle
in an ocean of sighs
Somewhere, there,
the pain in my veins
spreads like
a self-administered
drug
only it's not
my prescription, at all
just a parody
from the very
sick doctor
who shares
this house,
meant to
be a home
one who thinks
he knows it all
but knows nothing
In this dreamlike weaving
of staring blankly
into alternative spaces
when all is so heavy
that even breathing is a task
I suddenly remember
who the **** I am
and push my gaze through
the ceiling cracks
to look up at
the stars,
receiving their
shadows
of light
like a blessing
upon my
nettle-stung
tongue
and
rise
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 5:27 PM UTC
I'm a relationship engineer
Building engines to persevere
Through the loneliness I fear
That makes me panic
And seek out a mechanic
That tinkers
With my blinkers
But doesn't fix a thing
When I'm left with a sting
From what's defined as a fling
My pistons pumping
The way I'm *******
When I find a rocket scientist
That formulates the highest bliss
In his carefully calculated kiss
But I start to viciously *****
When our problems are subatomic
Because every decision
Creates nuclear fission
Which causes decay
And explosions of energy
His thoughts he relays
He sees me as the enemy
So I find a Christian
To pump my pistons
He has the morals of God
Which I figure can't be flawed
Though they may seem odd
But he doesn't love me
He feels he's above me
He acts like a martyr
Which makes me fall harder
But I'm left alone on the cross
He has forsaken me
He thinks I'm made of frost
He has mistaken me
I feel alone
In the brimstone
Of his dial tone
I found loneliness
In their phoniness
My engine needs trust
Otherwise it develops rust
But when everyone tries to act cool
Pain becomes my alternative fuel
Love once seemed like a jewel
Until my blood made a pool
I tried to get repairs
To find that nobody cares
I learned that science
Was of no reliance
And the pious life
Brought riot strife
So I find nowhere to turn
While my engine burns
Jan 14, 2018
Jan 14, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC
I can remember starving in a
small room in a strange city
shades pulled down, listening to
classical music
I was young I was so young it hurt like a knife
inside
because there was no alternative except to hide as long
as possible--
not in self-pity but with dismay at my limited chance:
trying to connect.
the old composers -- Mozart, Bach, Beethoven,
Brahms were the only ones who spoke to me and
they were dead.
finally, starved and beaten, I had to go into
the streets to be interviewed for low-paying and
monotonous
jobs
by strange men behind desks
men without eyes men without faces
who would take away my hours
break them
**** on them.
now I work for the editors the readers the
critics
but still hang around and drink with
Mozart, Bach, Brahms and the
Bee
some buddies
some men
sometimes all we need to be able to continue alone
are the dead
rattling the walls
that close us in.
11.2k
i will always be a cup of coffee
a little strong
a bit too sweet
and I can never change
her love
of a watered down alternative
that she prefers
instead of me
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 1:16 PM UTC
Insignificant dust
Swept under a cosmic carpet.
From pharaohs
To the night stockers at Wal-Mart,
Beg the questions asked countless times before.
I tell myself it doesn't matter
Because I'm on the up and up.
I won't be in this place forever
So what's the harm in taking it easy?
Some alternative country song plays on the air;
Singing about nostalgia and the west.
They don't have those things in China.
And here I thought I'd get to start over
In an afterlife with my family.
When I see their lifeless eyes,
I can tell no one thinks beyond themselves.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 7:31 PM UTC
MS
Multiple Scleriosis
Aka Miserable Self
"Listen to your body"
Says MS nurse
Your mind keeps going
Burning sensations intermittent
Stabing and shooting in arms and legs
Crawling in your head
Numbness in your ***
Forget fullness
Wobbling stumberling
Fear
Pregablin *****
Dampening your fuesed nerves
Limping dragging
"rest"
Says MS nurse
Mind keeps going
Days are half days
Taken up by sleep
Fear
Weakness
Dropping
Numbness
"pace yourself "
says MS nurse
Mind keeps going
job half done
Delegate
Let go
"Use your alternative technology "
Says MS nurse
Mind keeps going
Stick
Mixer
Steamer
Robotic vacuum cleaner
Hose
Wheelchair
Automatic car
It's challenging Managing Self
Be kinder to yourself
Kindness rules
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 6:38 AM UTC
Picketed, another generation pushing for advancement in the age of reason,
Logical, radical movement
Trying for less invasive measures of medication
To take the blinders off the prejudice of non-conformity and reach the masses
A promise to ease the pain, promote healing, the overall good
Met with violence, verbal slander, from mommies and daddies afraid of a world outside their white fence,
Fearing independence, the expansion of the mind, an openness in their youth to allow radical change.
The bloated belt bent backwards, white collar replaced by hedonistic practical libertarians in pursuit of happiness for all
Sick, disgusted with the man, the one behind the podium whom allows for this animosity on a group that did everything right, legally sound
Tired of hearing the whispers across a university, the hopeful gushing’s of elated individuals bright- eyes naive
Of a system that won’t allow something this controversial into the public, afraid to lose their hold on a potential capitol
On something that should be as easy to find in a free market as Captain Crunch, Coca-Cola, and Rice Krispy Treats.
Grinding down, fluffy-green-crystal bud
Dank yellow smoke smoldering out of pipes end, seeping out of closed lips billowing out of nostrils
Dragon fire down a throat coated with a week worth of soot, and experience
Choking, coughing, laughing away the misery
The disappointment in her fellow man to refuse to even consider the validity of a proven product
Knowing that if it was anything else a miracle drug composed of fairy dust, unicorn hair and the ***** of a thousand angels; approval would have been immediate.
Whip lash.
Flick, flame, fumigating
Baking myself into a calmer state, watching with ****** off grace
Twitching with the need to take action
To control this negative reaction, to slap the of face limp **** conservatives
So consumed with themselves, blind to the pain of people who have lost hope in other forms of relief
Alternative therapy shut off by a system obsessed with its war on drugs.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 12:13 PM UTC
the bottle is
the
bottle
is
the bottle is empty
had its contents been precariously dealt with
or
drop by drop assimilated?
assimilated?by the cloths of
silk pashmina cashmere
or the blackness of a tuxedo
i might never
ever
know, my father forgets
to the left
to
the
left
to the left of the bottle
is another bottle
quite smaller.
it is filled with
pink liquid
half full--or half empty
barely used by its
current owner
it smells like apples
and by the bottles is
and
by
the
bottles
is
and by the bottles is a ring
with two keys
that open locks somewhere
of COURSE!
why, what else would you
use a key
for?
the darkest
alternative for a key's usage, though
is to
hurt
some
body
with
it
metal
grinding the
skin
and the bottles
and
the
bottles
and the bottles thrown
the former can shatter
the latter houses a liquid
but,
but,
but,
but,
why?
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 11:20 AM UTC
My mother and her mother,
(four generations of mothers to be exact)
All conceived children They didn't want,
because They couldn't bear the alternative.
My sister and I are the only two who survived.
The intergenerational resentment
that is cast among each woman in our family
who decides to carry the burden of their unwanted child.
My mother loves us as much as she is capable-
Just like her mother and mothers mother before her.
Birthed into four generations of hurt,
that longed for acceptance and love that only a mother could give.
But each mother couldn't.
It took four generations of women and their pain
and longingness for love,
to create two women who are full of nothing but love
and are hungry to give it to the world
(we forgive you, because it's all you've known)
Jan 26, 2021
Jan 26, 2021 at 12:35 AM UTC
I sit at the edge of my bed,
White stocking covered feet
Swaying without breaking a beat,
You laugh and tell me, "no more, sweetie"
I give a smile but continue in denial
In denial that this is a fantasy I created after a while.
After months of late night calls and whispered sins
Months of laughter and cocained induced spins
It was when the truth slipped my lips that fantasies and dreams were locked away.
I laid in my cold bed, staring through a screen.
Your jaw tightened and my eyes fluttered closed.
Moments before we had laughed about our fantasies and I dreamed of a alternative life.
I even said, dreams don't come true and you neither denied it or agreed.
You enjoyed the thought of holding me and brushing your fingers over my skin.
I now enjoy the thought, alone in cold sheets of being loved again.
I messaged you in silent fear, will you ever come near?
Near to what we use to be,
Near to laughter and calling me your little Ducky?
You say you are torn, hurt and distressed.
One little Lie and I have to pull up my dress.
I cover my body and bow my head,
My Love, I am nothing but dead.
You don't know it now but I can see,
A day or so you will forget about me.
Fantasy will be locked behind a door,
Dreams have turned to nightmares since you aren't here anymore.
I wish I could have kept quiet,
But silence isn't my strong suit.
I wish you were dumber, after your nose is abused,
But instead you remain sharp and count the years until I can down a *****
I sit on the edge of my bed,
Bare feet swaying.
My eyes are glued to the bare stop I wish you were kneeling.
I part my lips to return a sassy response when I remembered;
Fantasies don't become reality.
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 1:06 AM UTC
When any ugly war breaks out , then A lot of pretty innocent people Will be lost as an ugly outcome ... Wars' traders don't care About human lives Simply because they are greedy and Coward at the same time ... A lot of graves are dug for those Get perished anytime ... Peace is The pretty alternative to any ugly war ... Ugly wars go on endlessly ... _______________________________________________________________
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 3:15 PM UTC
I'm tired!
I'm tired of everything,
I'm tired of all this world,
I'm tired of everything!
I’m tired of every example,
I'm tired of all the effort,
I'm tired of paying the price,
I'm tired of dying of desire!
I'm tired of being late,
I'm tired of being diagnosed,
I'm tired of being cured,
I'm tired of being censored!
I'm tired of having to explain to me,
I'm tired of having to listen,
I’m tired of all words,
I got tired even of poetry!
I'm tired of still life,
I'm tired of alternative medicine,
I'm tired of rich details,
I'm tired!
I'm tired of daydreaming,
I'm tired of sleeping on the train,
I'm tired of feeling pain,
I'm tired of suffering for love!
I'm tired of everything in this world!
Tired tired!
Tired of living tired,
Tired to exhaustion!
Tired out,
Married…
I married my old coat
With my fatigue.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 12:57 PM UTC
How do you get your mind off things?
Oh, read a book! That's it!
Let's read a sentence, a paragraph, a page.
Can you remember what you read?
Yes? Good!
No? Well welcome to my life.
Every sentence of every paragraph of every page
has brought back a memory or a wondering thought.
Memories and thoughts that clog my brain.
Remembering regrets. thinking of alternative solutions.
Reading over and over again the same words.
Not understanding anything it says.
going into deep thought,
changing emotion left and right.
Not even able to sound out a word
or remember its meaning.
trying to block them out!
I need to stop over thinking!
bringing the book inches from my face
because I can't even remember what a letter sounds like!
My mind is fried with deep thoughts
maybe I'll try reading again tomorrow...
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 2:51 AM UTC
My sassy gay friend
Is not an accessory
When you go rooting through the closet and find him
Lacing straight ties into chains
Do not think that he will complete your outfit
Just because a rainbow holds the hues that you were looking for
Haven’t you seen that bruises also bloom in shades of purple and blue
Fading into green and yellow
With red far too often escaping veins that are supposed to hold it in
Haven’t you seen what marks us
And brings our identity to the surface of our skin
When closet doors are slammed too often against our hands
My sassy gay friend
Is not a decoration
You do not get to wear him at your hip
To flaunt your acceptance
And claim symbiosis
As if he needs you to navigate the streets of heteronormativity
Cutting short his words when communication is the best thing we have
And when speaking fails us we resort to spending an afternoon
Sending smoke signals into the sky
Waiting for security in the focus that it takes just to
Breathe
My sassy gay friend
Is not a collectible
You do not get to gather us up into a complete set
To line us neatly in an array
Of rarities and charities
And alternative identities
Until you feel sufficiently well rounded
In your attempted diversity
My sassy gay friend
Is not an icon
A token character
Or comic relief
My sassy gay friend
Is not meant to be romanticized
Idolized
Or fetishized
He is human
I am human
You are human
And if we see each other as sparkles and rhinestones
We're all going to lose all the value
That can't be found on price tags
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 9:20 PM UTC
I am trapped inside an hourglass
these affections are shut tight
like knots within my chest
I am waiting for the test of time to pass
and that is something only silence does best
While every grain of sand falls to rise against the air I breathe
my heart is refined by endurance
there is no sweeter alternative
than to taste the fullness of love
in the ripeness of its season
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 6:24 AM UTC
No option, but to be perceived
Violent, Aggressive, Irrational
Identity becoming an other
Words of malice, they mystify
Words of ignorance, they vilify
Subverting consciousness and articulation
Our identities, fighting to be
Autonomous landscapes
Hoping in anticipation for liberation
No real notion of we or me
Implicating it's inhuman to be foreign
When they represent as much of we and me
Scandalizing alternative identities as subversive
Advancing erasures in favor of hegemony
Propaganda favoring what is most white
Amelioration for the obliteration of cunning identity?
No more cooperation, ****** the euphemisms
That cover up, and help justify marginalization
Our identities, fighting to be
Autonomous landscapes
Hoping in anticipation for liberation
Time to **** ****** massacre eurocentric ideology
We preach no violence, being not them, just we
But cannot request to be free, must tear it out by force
Eurocentric ideological pandemic inhabiting, inhibiting the soul of mankind
Unthinkable abomination concealed in the veil of appropriated minds
Necessitating exorcism for the incarcerated conscious mind
When we completely violate mandates of eurocentric ideology
When only we appropriate our own identity
When we all nullify the color of our skin
As profanity or inadequacy
Our identities, fighting to be
Autonomous landscapes
Hoping in anticipation for liberation
Will be awaiting purgation from alienation
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 6:25 PM UTC
When I'm at the end of my rope,
You're my only hope, you're my go to- road.
And if I leave you on a cliffhanger, a slippery slope,
Would you still give me hope? Oh darling please, don't go
Oh make a soundtrack for my life,
Make a playlist so good it'll keep me alive,
You're all I've got, all I want, and I'd let go of my alternative world, if I could keep you in this real one here..
Cause when I'm at the end of my rope,
You're my only hope,
You're my go to road.
And sometimes life is a lonely road,
But I'll hold you close, In my heart
You're my favourite poem.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 5:32 PM UTC
Cautionary visions visit in viciously vivid fashion
I'm dead and my head is missing
Everyone is laughing
But me
And the sky is sorta dreary but I don't know
With no eyes you don't see too clearly
Sew me a new one on,
Attached at the neck
Plastic instead of brittle skin and maybe then
I can exist in some form above the normally gray and grim
I pray to a faceless facade
I made a "God" in my head
An eternal alternative to turn to and blame
And claim to strangers that he works in mysterious ways
My lips are chafed from singing unheard praises
I'm tasteless and it has me thinking that maybe my mouth was only a product of my imagination
**Food for thought I chew and stop
Its too **** hot for contemplation**
Still, I used to think my hands belonged to someone else
Right up until I used them both to **** myself
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 12:38 PM UTC
I love you. I love you so much. I love you.. Love you to the moon and back.
Moon and back, what does that mean? Does it mean the amount of time that it would take me to get to the moon and back I would love you? Does it mean that love is a measurement and the moon and back is one love? Does it mean that if love was a form of energy it could take you to the moon and back? Or is simply just a figure of speech to be said meaningfully to a lover to imply great love?
Moon and back, I have heard that many times over and over, never understanding the meaning, and I think I'm not the only one.
Moon and back, if it's a amount of time then it's six days, Apollo 11 did it in six.
Moon and back, if it's a measurement then love equals 477,800 miles.
Moon and back, if it's energy then it's equal to 381,000 gallons of gas.
Moon and back, if it's a figure of speech then it's a extremely poor one.
Moon and back, I love you to the moon and back, it implies restricted love, measured love, to an extent love, timed love, ended love.
To the moon and back I will love you.
Love should not be measured, timed, restricted, ended.
Moon and back, why do we still say it? Because we saw it in the movies? "You want the moon? That's a great idea! I'll lasso the moon for ya what'd ya about that?" "Hmm, I'll take it" - it's a wonderful life. We heard it in the songs? "You want the moon? Girl watch me grab it" - Far East Movement
Why? Because we have no alternative?
Moon and back. Moon and back. To the moon and back.
What? Do we lack the capability to make new phrases? Do we lack the romanticism?
No, we lack the courage to say our thoughts. I love you till, till the sun explodes and we are ****** into darkness and even then when we are nothing, and there is nothing, there will be my love for you.
We have the fear of being laughed at for saying what our heart wants us to say. I need you like birds need wings to fly, like lions need claws to **** like fish need water to live.
The horror, of being completely honest. I didn't love you the first time I told you I loved you, because if I did mean it then, than this must be more then love, but it can't cuz what's after love?
Moon and back, I'm tired of unromantic couples.
Moon and back, moon and back.
Moon and back, maybe we say it because deep down we all know the truth.
The truth of, moon and back, and as much as we hate it, as much as we fight it,
Love does end.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 2:14 PM UTC
I flowed into the dark blue ocean of symbols.
Just yesterday,
I walked with heavy footsteps,
well-grounded.
But once again,
an irresistible force lifted me.
I wanted to see what was above.
Then I came back,
changed,
less happy,
a part of me scattered
in that an alternative universe.
Now, worlds overlapping appear,
The sun is shining with different light.
Words change their meaning.
The fog thickens so,
I can no longer see fissures
under my feet.
Step by step, carefully,
I try to pass through
a dimension of forgotten dreaming.
I don’t want to be stuck
inside an illusion for too long.
Looking at my heart still glowing,
devoured by some voices,
bite by bite, crumb by crumb.
They come in need,
then dissolve like ghosts.
How can one love,
under the heavy weight of knowing—
with Lapis Lazuli pressed
against my chest?
I don’t want to vanish
into sticky spider webs
into formal language
that is too cold,
too detached.
Two forces fight inside me
To see the truth, even if it hurts,
or to close my eyes,
and idealize brutal reality.
Looking in the distorted mirror,
observing love quivering on the verge.
And thus, the Earth becomes the theater.
The cynical facades ******
with pretended freedom,
taking every hour,
every month,
every year,
into
PROGRESSIVE
DE…HUMANIZATION
Jun 25, 2025
Jun 25, 2025 at 12:47 PM UTC
Opposites
I say love, You say hate,
I say curve. you say straight.
I say yes, you say no,
I say stay, you say go.
We agree to disagree,
to my heart, you hold the key.
We both beg to differ,
seeing you makes it stiffer.
I say pizza, you say salad,
I say rock, you say ballad.
I say front, you say back,
I say tic, you say tac.
I say you, you say me,
I say pay, you say free.
Sometimes opposites do attract,
all depending on the chemistry contact.
Nothing will ever tear us apart,
we have a title for the last ****
I say please, you say beg,
I say breast, you say leg.
I say *** you say ****
I say three-way, you say group.
Took forever to find each other,
almost gave up on the love buzzer.
Our love is so very strong,
we both have the favorite song.
I say food, you say drink,
I say Halestorm, you say Pink.
I say metal, you say alternative,
I say positive, you say negative.
I say blue, you say red,
I say single, you say wed.
Nobody said love was easy,
it can make you sick and queasy.
We love each other no matter what,
butterflies fill up our empty gut.
I say naked, you say clothes,
I say fate, you say chose.
I say car, you say truck,
I say *** you say ****
Love comes in mysterious ways,
this is real, not a phase.
Our love is happily ever after,
the key is a nice ***** and some laughter.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 1:32 PM UTC