"biologically" poems
*biologically yes you are..
physically, very clear
you are my* brother according to science
but to me you're dead.
*you treat me like ****
to put it bluntly*
emotionaly, you're not my brother,
you're a stranger living in my house.
i used to have a brother,
now he is nothing but a monster.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC
It's easy to hate people
For things you don't understand.
I know.
I've been on both ends.
And the funny thing
About people hating other people,
Is that we're really not that different.
I mean, according to recent studies,
Race doesn't even biologically exist.
And most religions look and act the same,
In some way, shape, or form.
Almost every one has started some type of war,
Though it was truly based upon greed and power.
Humans have a strange thirst for power,
I've never really understood it.
I've hated my fair share
Of humans.
Granted, most of them were violent ******
Granted, so am I.
Though I am violent in the vindictive, spiteful sense.
No better, really.
A false sense of righteousness
Because I believe I can cast judgment upon those who have sinned,
While ignoring my sins.
You have no reason to judge another,
For you are not clean of sin.
Now,
I'd get off my high horse,
If the ground wasn't so *****
And full of hate.
It makes my stomach weak,
Too much dark.
Not enough light.
Of course,
If all were well,
I'd think there were too much light,
Not enough dark.
There needs to be a balance,
But the balance is too dark.
I wonder how you can't see it,
How you can force yourself into denial
And live in your little fantasy world
Where all is good, and all is this, and all is that.
I'd like to think it's because you haven't seen what I've seen,
But you have.
But you do know.
And that scares me.
So keep hating this,
But not that.
Keep hating that,
But not this.
You can't make excuses,
When you hate all around the board.
Be careful who you hate,
It might be someone you love.
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 7:55 PM UTC
Men and women are equal
None are above the other
In rights and respect
Equal
Men have strength yes
Yet it's women who endure
Men and women
Both are intelligent
As their brains made of the same matter
Biologically here equality stands firm
Differences of course are there
Yet minuscule
Appearances cast aside
Only few can be observed
Women and men
Both are sensitive and feel
Yet where women show it; display
Men conceal; pretend not to feel
Society kills
In tactics and ideas
Is where our message ends
For too often it's said to
Disregard the thoughts of women
Too dumb and feeble minded to be
Of Value and interest
Yet where there's Winston Churchill
The mastermind of Britain
There's also Elizabeth the 1st
The queen who beat the Spanish Armada
Hence with logics like this
Any notion of ****** inferiority**
Can be easily dismissed
As utterly ridiculous.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 12:28 PM UTC
The parasympathetic nervous system
is responsible for regulations
unconsciously transpiring
within the organs and
the glands of
the body.
Such as:
urination, salivation, digestion, defecation, and
lacrimation
(noun. ‘the flow of tears’. Latin.
from lacrimare (‘weep’) and lacrima (‘tear’).
It’s why I cry
even when I don’t want to.
You are the parasympathetic nervous system.
The (ortho-)sympathetic nervous system
is responsible for the mobilization
of the fight-or-flight response
and constantly maintaining
homeostasis within
the body.
It acts
rapidly, enacting an attempt at stability and
the necessary and critical ability
to suddenly escape
on pulsing legs or
cling to survival through
brandishing adrenaline-doused knuckles
and dilated pupils.
It’s why you live
even when you don’t want to.
I am the sympathetic nervous system.
The parasympathetic and sympathetic nervous systems
are two of three essential nervous systems which
compose the autonomic nervous system
(a part of the peripheral
nervous system)
that manages
involuntary
functions of the body. Such as:
swallowing, perspiration, arousal, breathing, and
heart rate
(noun. ‘the speed of the heartbeat’.
usually expressed in beats per minute. mine speeds up when I see you).
Individually these two systems oppose
but compliment
each other like our hands do—
pressed together and omitting equal force;
veins meeting
at the fingertips and throbbing at the wrists
but running amuck on our respective digits otherwise.
You are the invariable and unspoken reminder to
breath,
love,
sweat,
and live.
I am the sudden snap of reality always aiming to save you
but grudgingly willing to fight you and
ready
to
leave.
From the deepest lower half of my brainstem
and from every nerve
in my cycling body,
I’m sorry.
From all of my chromaffin cells
and from the truest parts of submandibular ganglian,
I am sorry.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
At a very small age, much too young
to know what a true love felt like,
I learned that I’d never be the
special girl in your life.
I could see from the distance already
wedged between us that there would
always be a much larger section
of your heart that I’d never be
good enough to fill.
I was only a very small part of
your world, taking up a tiny section
of your heart like a sliver wedged
deep inside the membrane of your
greatest ***** like a paper cut to the
side of your finger; so small just to push
aside but too much pain to forget completely.
I was the mistake you were trying to
move on from, to put behind you,
to forget about me as if I never existed.
Even from a modest age, I knew how
to long after a man who barely knew that
I belonged to him.
You were out of my league;
in a total different game.
I could hang on to someone like they were
the air I needed inside my lungs to breathe.
But you only ever wanted to be let go.
Oxygen is nothing that I’ll ever be able to touch.
You taught me what it meant to be temporary
before I would ever know what commitment was
and I learned soon enough that
they didn’t mean the same thing.
I tried and I tried and I tried
to be your girl.
I experienced my first broken heart
when you asked her to marry you.
We never had a relationship
but she became the wedge between
our potential friendship.
I learned what heartbreak felt like by a
man who said he loved me but had
the strangest way of showing it.
I learned that actions spoke louder than words
but sometimes actions didn’t speak at all.
I learned to never believe the truth
because you’d taught me how good a lie
felt within my ears;
like the harmony of an orchestra whose
conductor was blind to the instruments
being played in front of him.
We’ve never known harmony;
always out of tune,
I hated the sound of music.
I loved fairytales but hated Cinderella
and the reality that she brought to my life.
Blood wasn’t thicker;
It meant nothing to be related biologically
when romantic love came into play.
From a young age, I learned the world
was a cruel and unfair place
and I had to fight from my
corner of the ring by myself.
I learned what favoritism meant
and not because you chose me.
I learned temporary,
but never knew commitment.
The ratio of lies to truths was far greater.
After knowing distance,
I knew how to be cautious.
After you broke my heart,
I learned hate.
I knew how it felt to hate before
I would ever know how to love.
I knew it like the back of my hand;
more than I could ever know you.
But it’s time I taught myself something
so I’m learning forgiveness.
I forgive you,
for not knowing what it means
to be a father.
I forgive you for never choosing me
and for always picking her.
I tried and I tried and I tried
to be daddy’s girl,
but you never allowed me that privilege
and your heart was never large enough
for both of us,
so I forgive you for loving her more;
I forgive you for being my dad.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 11:12 PM UTC
From a young age I knew
there was a man and a woman out there, complete strangers,
who were, biologically, my grandparents.
I knew my chances of meeting them were exactly zero to none.
The parents who took my dad home that day were his parents
And that was done.
Before me sat a grandmother, and the spirit of a grandfather passed,
who loved me more than any stranger-grandparent ever could
who was there for every dance recital, every holiday, every mistake, every success
who, though I bore no resemblance, watched me grow right before her eyes
who swore the Easter bunny left treats at her house for me--
even when I was beyond the years of belief.
Always wearing a sweatsuit and gold stud earrings,
with an added neck-scarf and red lip for special occasions.
Telling tales of the "poor dear" animal she saw
Dead on the side of the road--
Sad enough, you'd think it was her own.
Church every Sunday and the shirt off her back,
Had you asked.
This woman I explain
Shares no blood, but, a surname.
I love her just the same
If not more
Than any grandmother
Genetics had in store.
She's a part of who I am,
though not in my DNA.
Nature versus Nurture:
Nurture wins again.
She taught me:
Strength, grace, humility, selflessness, generosity, and patience
Without sharing one biological thread
By example she lead
And I continue to follow
In her footsteps.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
But where is the place for the people like us?
The artists, the cutters, the solemn observers.
Every INFJ. Every poisoned mind. Every social awkward with so much depth they just might sink.
The ones who have found their soul but are searching for their mind.
The ones who find their mind by losing their marbles.
The misrepresented and misunderstood.
The hurt and the happy.
With a requirement of so much patience and love that no one is willing or able to give.
The ones who make adjustments.
Who hit rock bottom and manage to get back up on their own.
The ones who fall too fast for something out of reach. They end up quietly crashing and burning.
The ones who are living under layers of paint; on their hearts and in their homes. Whose sweetness and innocence are buried somewhere underneath the paint, barely recognizable.
The ones who were born with a fifty year old soul.
Who have a biologically memorized speech that no one will hear; that no one can hear.
I ask you, where will they go, the people like us?
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 9:07 PM UTC
I found an empty book, it's labelled biology- grade nine,
fake lines ran across the book, never any real content,
to feel content with what I read was an impossible matter,
scattered diagrams of human anatomy too far from realism
because realistic diagrams would include labels to hearts
with coloured charts stating that 'this may fall apart-
not by fat barricades, but to paraphrase a different place,
Neruda chases the stars and from afar as the cages of ribs
would rip and sometimes, just enough to have felt loved,
to feel enough with being held for just a night, a short time,
but life is built beyond a biology book.
It is so strange that I have learnt so much more about life
than ninth grade biology because being biologically correct
doesn't ***** the hairs on my back as an assortment of words
like an assortment of birds aren't really meant to be described
as assortments and a biology book isn't really meant to describe life.
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 6:04 AM UTC
What am I organically? Not simply, biologically.
What do I like without any preconceived notion or idea about something,
anything at all?
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 11:57 PM UTC
This is not really a poem; just an insightful realization of mine
We have this mainstream perception of human life—that we grow to freely love the things we desire to love. We are biologically-inclined to conform to the intuitive notion of 'freewill'. But what is supposed to be imprinted in our minds turns out to be no more false than the number zero being larger than one; in actuality, we are nothing but biological clockwork confined to obey the laws of nature.
Every atom in our body, every neuron streaking in our nerves, and every step we take, our body does so, for the laws of nature require it to. Our actions are as predetermined as the orbits of the planets, and paradoxically, it is as probabilistic as the location of an electron in its quantum orbit. We don't act out of our own will; we act out of necessity, for the laws of nature require us to behave the way we should be behaving.
They call it Scientific Determinism.
Disturbing, isn't it? And what does that make out of freewill and love? Simply put: freewill is an illusion, and love is the sweetest lie ever conjured up in this Universe. Even so, we still choose to believe in both. Why? Because we're humans; we long to live our life with a purpose, even if it takes for us to make up our own.
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 11:45 AM UTC
no emotionally ecstatic experience compares
to the seminal instance
whence spermatozoa
(from profuse *********** beget
the miraculous propensity
to procreate despite the steep odds
female fertility fosters potential impregnation
fusing the hereditary debt
of feral, fiery, fomenting friskiness
fueling fancy free footloose fornication
prior to seminal fertilization union
sans ova doth induce fret
full ness in tandem with
diametrically opposed exultant sensations
(biologically, embryonically, microscopically,
et cetera) seismic shocks inject
when deliberate intent arises to disregard
applying prophylactics choice
plying reproductive roulette let
which analogous fruitful uterine plain
bastes the "cooking" egg omelette
which impregnation upends cessation of "self"
first and foremost asper desire to breed
wrenching role of "me" as operative
of webbed world de jure upon
consummating that most miraculous deed
necessitating yet for the fecund female relief
from messy menstrual cycle
she becomes temporarily freed
that perhaps a novitiate (or even a gal practiced
in the euphoric family, she instinctually
abides prenatal signals that heed
without feeling debased, harangued, lectured
pedagogical, polemical, puritanical, et cetera blast
assessing copulation enjoyed gloriously,
ineluctably, kinesthetically
lectured by elder, especially cast
in thee reel life drama, that nine months
til offspring utters initial whimper
elapses exceptionally fast
emitting a radiant golden halo wishing
to bottle confluence of hormonal secretions last
ideally fully awake to the birthing process,
when juiced the first stage of maternity past
cuz every moment thee inconsolably
(perhaps colicky infant)
gets first dibs to suckle,
which round the clock nursing
consumes moments many vast.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 11:04 PM UTC
I shall forget you presently, my dear,
So make the most of this, your little day,
Your little month, your little half a year,
Ere I forget, or die, or move away,
And we are done forever; by and by
I shall forget you, as I said, but now,
If you entreat me with your loveliest lie
I will protest you with my favorite vow.
I would indeed that love were longer-lived,
And vows were not so brittle as they are,
But so it is, and nature has contrived
To struggle on without a break thus far,—
Whether or not we find what we are seeking
Is idle, biologically speaking.
2.9k
Fleshy is such
a nasty word.
Like ******
****** is a nasty word.
It's also a nasty action,
but it's one of those
rare, rare cases
where, where the word
is as bad as the action
(biologically speaking).
And if you combine the two:
Fleshy ******
it's almost double the nasty.
It's like math.
Except gross
(biologically speaking).
What's a biologically and how does it speak?
Maybe we want our science
to speak for us
because we've run out of thoughts.
Maybe we need our experiments
to show to us
what we're afraid to depict
ourselves.
Our brains are driven toward creativity,
while our world is driven
toward tangibility
(biologically speaking).
Maybe we're just left with facts
because opinions are scarce,
and we're starving,
clawing away at the morsels of Nature
instead of the meat.
biologically speaking.
Feb 10, 2010
Feb 10, 2010 at 12:56 AM UTC
Why did you shut me out?
You said I don't talk to you enough,
But how do I keep a conversation going...
when the only response I get is "cuz" and "k"?
What did I do to lose you in my life?
You're my father biologically;
You use to be my father physically as well.
Our conversations...
"How are you?"..."I'm good. You?"..."k"
You helped raise me for god sake,
And I feel more a stranger to you than the guy down the street.
I have longed to have you back in my life;
The way things use to be.
"Lets go throw a football" turned into hours of fun.
Now I get a smile on my face when you wave to me while we drive...
...in opposite directions...
I bet you couldn't tell me what's new in my life-
Maybe you stopped caring...or maybe she won't let you care.
Sad part is that either way you're allowing it.
I keep being told that you're losing out by not being there.
You've already missed my graduation and surgery...
What's next?
I''m losing out on the time I could be spending with you.
How many baseball games have we missed going to?
Or even just sitting down and talking.
I'm not asking for much...at least I don't believe I am.
A child should be allowed to want their father in their lives.
I've had to learn how to grow up without you now.
All the bike rides, talks, games played have been filed away,
In the past...
...where my dad truly is...
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 9:26 PM UTC
My body
Is not obscene.
It is not something
That needs to be hidden,
Brought out only in the dark of bedrooms,
And showers,
And alleyways,
And incognito mode.
My body
Is not for sale,
Not a commodity, though if I chose to sell it for money you'd ridicule me--
Deep down you love it, don't you?
The fine you pay for fine curves and no promises.
Those desperate nights you need something to come into.
Is that what we are?--
Somethings?
And no sooner exchange the dollar for a dance than sweettalk for ***
And I could do the same to you, too-- I am not excused.
Not that you know that. We all pretend I can't...
Just a prize to be won?
I'm not anyone!
Come on, try to take me...
And when you do, oh-oh-oh!
Congratulations!
Lucky you!
You got me.
Success
Sweet success.
I have desires too,
But they don't matter--
If I want to **** him, he's the one who won
Because females don't desire.
And being trans?
Genderqueer?
Androgyne?
Hell, that doesn't exist!
What a load of ****
And I smile now, because I don't remember how to cry.
I am not allowed to desire,
And if I do, and I reach what I want,
Then I am a ****
Worthless.
Trash.
But were I a "real" man,
I would be a winner for it.
Anger has lived in me.
Jealousy has made my bones its home.
I am not allowed to exist.
I am not allowed to want.
I am not allowed to sin.
I am not allowed to be.
I am a second, a lower form.
Collateral--
And I'm yours.
Why do you worship my body and yet disrespect it?
And disrespect me?
I cannot exist.
Kiss me just to shut me up----
I'm tired of pretending to be human in a world that won't let me be.
I quit.
You complain that I complain.
But sexism pervades every moment of my life:
I am constantly fighting it;
Each kiss, every ****
My schooling, my career,
Everyday conversations,
All of my relations to other people, no matter which kind,
Each time I shower,
Get dressed,
Exercise,
Turn on the TV,
Go out to the pool or a hotel or on a walk,
Sexism is there to hold my hand.
It is with me.
I've never had an ally so loyal.
It wouldn't dare leave my side.
Would I dare?
To leave it behind?
Would you?
Could we join hands,
Across genders,
Across sexes,
Form a new alliance?
One that helps me feel safe in my own body,
My own mind,
My own home?
That gives other women and other afabs a chance to be seen as more than just bodies?
Will there be a day when I can stand beside an amab, both our chests bare, and be seen as equal?
Will there be a day when you will see me as my gender?
And will there be a day that you will finally see a trans woman as more of a woman than me?
We may be females.
Biologically or mentally--
But that does not define us.
We define us.
This is My Body.
It is not me, but it is mine.
It will never belong to anyone else.
My Body.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
You find yourself thinking in color. It permeates through every inch of what you know. Thoughts get processed in them and translated by it. Although I favor the one that shines most bright, I barely claim it. I lack of it. In fact, I come to deny it, to exclude it, rather than make it my own.
Lets think through color. Nelson lives in the reflective imposition of it. She strips it down and eats it whole. She hugs its core and stares right at it. She owns it, unlike the string of light I keep refusing.
He, she, they, constructed this. We, you, them, distort it, reshape it, bend it up, and cut it down.
It is the only lineage that connects us all. Dickinson saw the strength of the grass like your mom did and with the vision you do. But, color gets lost in translation. They used Doves to instill fear and swordsmen saw Paper as a sign of truce.
It hurts as well. Obsidian carries pain within. Marks on his back from a remote past, a past that is still dragged to the present. Obscure in its presence. Regarded as biologically distinct. Yet, we now know better, or pretend to.
Blends. Blends in, it merges, fuses, makes new. Transforms. Distorts. She made me see the core once, and it bleeds.
Not the primary but the others, from distant lands on a new canvas, filling in the outlined sketch.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 6:17 AM UTC
For my sister who is not biologically my sister.
For my sister who has helped me through so much.
You, the beautiful creature who has time and time again cleaned my blood off the bathroom floor, bandaged my wrists, and stayed up all night to keep me alive.
You, the magnificent woman who gets put down everyday.
For my sister who is not legally my sister.
You, who has been more maternal and has shown me more love than my own mother ever has.
Who has stuck her fingers down my throat and made me wretch up the bottle of pills that I swallowed because I thought they would take me to a place that would make me happy.
You who has loved me more than I love myself.
For my sister who’s favorite type of alcohol is *****
You who drinks it not because you love the taste, but because you drink it for the punishing bitter taste of it.
You who drinks it to forget your father who never really acted like a father.
For my sister who starves herself every day because her mother told her that she would prettier if she was thinner.
You who is the most loving person I know, that does not think she is worthy of love.
You, the most empowering person I know, who cannot empower herself right now.
For my sister who is currently lying in a hospital bed right now because I was not there for her.
You look so thin and fragile among the blankets and IV tubes. If you were conscious right now, you would say that you look like a lesbian in your hospital gown.
For the teenage girl who has seen more of hell than she has heaven, and still manages to be an angel to everyone she meets.
For my sister who is not in any way, shape or form related to me.
You have been more of family to me than I will ever know.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 12:35 PM UTC
A woman bleeds every month
not by her choice
but because she was biologically programmed that way.
So I'm sure a small heartbreak
is nothing she can't possibly handle
or get over with,
with time.
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 3:41 AM UTC
“have you masturbated yet”
no i haven’t
“do you even know how to”
yes i understand the mechanics of it
you put a couple of fingers in and
wiggle them around
“why haven’t you masturbated yet”
i lied when i told you that there was
a short answer to this
either answer involves yelling
and screaming so loud
that a fire blossoms
in the middle of my chest
and my voice cracks
and people can hear me on the
other side of the restaurant
this is not a quiet answer
it is not a quick one
it is the pull of a trigger
right into who i am
and it is a cruel
slash at my insecurity
have you ever heard of
****** autonomy
or maybe personal space
questions that
a grown man
an elderly man
should never ask a teenager
let alone a transgender teenager
and the age gap
42 years
a year younger than my mother
doesn’t make this a friendly thing
it makes you a pervert
(but i will answer this again
so more people than you
can look at me like i am
even more of a freak
than they originally thought
i do not **********
because looking at myself naked
even before getting into the shower
when i brush my teeth
and my ******* swing
like twin pendulums
over the basin of the sink
i want to cut it all off
and no
at this point
i do not care if i bleed to death
i have been bleeding for years
since that first person asked me
if i was a girl or a boy
and no
you do not understand
because you were not born
in the wrong body
you have the hanging anatomy
between your hairy thighs
and the biologically male on
your birth certificate
as proof of that
there are no
scars on your arms
or on your chest
parts of you are not going to
be cut off
and scooped out
so people will see you as
and address you as
male
so do not pretend that
you understand
because you do not
and you do not try to)
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 9:28 AM UTC
I'd rather cuddle than go to the park
Said my friend
I'd rather cuddle then go to the park
Said I
What a difference one little letter makes
Funny that both 'a' and 'e' are the most used
Out of all the 26 children, these are the most abused
(Sorry that was dark, I had to write it though
I've got a new contract giving me a quota
And setting a minimum of X poems a day
With L number of lines with Q words per line
And purple plus candy canes equals love.
Another provision in my contract is that I must write
Anything and everything and whatever comes to mind)
So I'm thinking of all these letters and thinking
Why these? Why 26? Why have 'c' if 's' and 'k' can do its job?
And why do people have favorites?
Which makes my mind segue into this thought:
Why have favorites at all? Everything will be a favorite
Something to someone, right?
And what does it benefit us to love a letter or symbol such as <3
Or maybe :)
Is it because our mind sees patterns and so instead of seeing
The mathematically incorrect 'less than three' we see a heart
And instead of 'colon parentheses' (correct in no context but the internet) we see a smile
And in all honesty, we must admit, <3 and :) are not biologically
Or physiologically accurate
So how did we come up with the super-simplified emoticon?
And who came up with a word like emoticon anyway??
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 7:14 AM UTC
Smooth your lips melt into me impart
Advice biologically it doesn't
Take words to understand
sensuality it's more a
thing 'comes
naturally.
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 9:39 PM UTC
Dearest Mother
I love you so much, so deep.
Why do your Children make you weep?
You adopted me, with a broken past
Filled with hateful ideals.
Thus, saving my heart.
Although Im not your aesthetic child,
I love you more than those,
Who claim your side.
My bloodline, an embarrasment, they **** your body.
They steal from you, a detestable history.
Engraved on the future, a history past.
Of foreign Politics, your new prison Mom.
And why do your children embrace this lie?
Why are they standing idly by,
While you wither and die?
For fame?
For Fortune?
For Self..
For GREED...
This is NOT your teachings!
"UBUNTU" is...
You taught me to Love beyond the colour of skin.
And to love profoundly, my Rainbow Kin.
Your Spirit, dear Mother, I will defend till Death.
Help me return your babies
back to your breast.
Forgive my Ancestors, they have no clue what they did.
Their greed, their hate, their fear, killed your Kid.
Forgive your Children,
My brothers and sisters.
For their hearts are violent and full of blisters.
And Mom, I know this is not your way.
You show love and respect, the opposite of pain...
Though I may not be biologically yours,
You blessed me in your love,
Showed me that with you, there are no borders.
My Mother I love you. Im sorry for what they do.
Though Im not your birth child,
I know you love me too..
so WAKE UP my Sister
WAKE UP my brother.
Stand up with me.
Defend our Mother.
She is bruised and hurt,
Cant you hear her cries?
Because Her children are greedy,
And dont care if She dies.
Our "Leaders" **** Her out
For personal gain.
She is NOT for sale!
I wont play that game.
So Mom, I love you.
I cry because of what they do.
They claim your being,
They claim they own YOU!
But you cant be owned, or sold by any,
Because you are loved,
By oh so many..
Again I pledge my Love to you.
Im not alone, many of your Kids are good.
They embrace your teachings.
They keep your ways.
To live life in your Tradition,
And not in shame.
I love you too, my sister, my brother.
In Truth and Respect, another gift from our Mother.
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 4:38 AM UTC
There’s nothing worse than a girl desperate for love:
A girl that pities herself enough to think she is so intrinsically broken
she couldn’t even connect with someone biologically destined to love her;
A girl stupid enough to learn that love is a reward that she must earn,
yet frantic enough to always work too hard for it;
A girl that overcompensates. Begs. Forces.
A girl that claims she ‘Doesn’t know what to do with love’
when it comes along, so that, naturally, she can smother it;
A girl who’s biggest fear is abandonment, yet is an expert on expecting too much;
A girl that’s waiting to be saved, but would tell you she doesn’t deserve it;
A girl that still obsesses over ways she has been bruised
when surrounded by people that have helped her heal;
A girl who’s self involved, with no sense of self;
A girl that cries. And cries. And cries.
There’s nothing worse than a girl desperate for love.
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 6:26 PM UTC
Biologically linked
His debut was celebrated
A son, at last
Gynaecologically whole
Daughters, well, ok
but a son, now that is
ideal.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 11:39 AM UTC