you laugh long and loud
tell me anger is uncalled for
tell me "it's a compliment"

i want to tell you this:
my ancestors killed thousands
conquered nations
burned kings alive
yet somehow you think
that i can't do the same

maybe i'd just like to know
what makes you human
when you've torn me down
so inhumanly

Why does it have to be this way?
Why do I have to spend years of my life in fear?

There is so much hate for something so natural.
Is it the misogyny?
That I, a woman, dare defy males the pleasure of having me?
Is it religious hate?
That I, a lesbian, dare defy God's image of mankind?
Is it the fetishization?
That who I love is more akin to a **** category than a real relationship?

It could be, or it could be other causes.
The fact is, it shouldn't matter.
We've all heard it, I'm born this way.
After a while, the same argument doesn't mean anything though.
I don't know how else to convey to these idiots I didn't choose this.
I didn't choose to lose my childhood best friends,
Or to be outed to my high school because I trusted the wrong person.
To live in fear that my parents would not accept me for who I am.
To have such a fear of myself, I sabotage any relationship I begin.

I know I should have pride,
and I do.
I just don't know if the good outweighs the bad yet.
All of the good are hypotheticals.
Thinking about my future wife, and house, and relationship dynamics.
I fantasize about a shapeless form that will one day be someone I love.
But for now, that is all it is, a fantasy.

I want it to be a reality,
I want my parents supporting and loving me to be a reality too.
I want to find the person I am brave enough to hold hands with,
in spite of the rage that it causes.
I just want to be happy.

I’m just a product
Of all the trauma,
You raised me this way,
Carry some blame,
Cause I’m holding the shame.

Messy rooms,
Unmade beds,
Dry showers,
Crusted plates.

I’m just romanticized,
You can fix me, I’ll be a prize,
And you’ll hug me and love me,
Till the next time I die.

Messy rooms,
Unmade beds,
Dry showers,
Crusted plates.

I can’t see my floor, anymore,
My room is becoming my tomb,
Just wait I’ll be out soon,
And you’ll see my rat’s nest,
Of disgrace and unrest.

You only live life once, they say.
You only have one mom, one dad, and you only have one first car.
Well, I don’t care.
You only lose your virginity once, have one firstborn, you only have one death, they say.
Well, having *** for the first time is no different from having *** for the second time
Despite both archaic views on biology
And the backwash of a society that values peaking by young adulthood.
Children are neither here nor there,
And I don’t care about death.
Youth has been romanticized to the point of fetishization.
The plethora of coming-of-age novels and films represent this.
We live in a culture obsessed with youth,
It’s connotations,
Innumerable “firsts”,
Peaking by young adulthood.
Is it simply because children and teens are more easy to market to, being a perpetually existing group?
Is it because in a culture with such drastically differing generations, youth provides a connecting wire between them?
Is it because of the amount of people who look back from their mundane lives and fall into nostalgia’s pit?
Or something else?

Horse girls.

I think that horse girls
secretly play with,
and caress,
their stallions' *****.

They need that steed seed,
if you catch my drift.

Furthermore I believe
that their shameful fetishization
is intentionally kept hidden behind
a facade of general love and care for animals.

Especially when they say things like
"I care about animals more than people."

Like, *****
no you don't.
You just get wet thinking about big animal ****.
Which is completely fine, just be honest about it.
And, uhh...
Can I watch?

let’s talk about love, simon
this book that so many hands
have held and worn smooth
places on the cover
pages all creased from
countless readings

this book that became
a movie with witty
posters about coming out
and rainbow emoji hearts
as a way to advertise the
opening of doors upon
the realization that
love, simon is
a dearly needed piece of
media that gives queer
people a happy ending

and sitting in the theater
first with my grandmother
and then with my sister
i cried many times

for myself
for my friends
and for all the queer people
that have not lived to see
a movie like this

i was almost one of those people
because in national studies
40% of transgender adults have reported
attempting suicide
and 92% of those individuals reported
having attempted suicide before
the age of 25

i was almost one of those people
i was almost a statistic
because 5,000 lgbtq youth
take their lives each year
and 500,000 lgbtq youth
attempt suicide

so many movie theaters
could be filled with all these
people that didn’t make it through
who they were to become who they
were meant to be
because the world is a hateful
and hurtful place to those
that are different

but there is always a light
sometimes found in the pages
of a book by an author
that is not queer themselves but
puts the effort into listening to
lgbtq people and making that story
as true to their experiences
without any of the
pandering or queer-baiting
or the ******* fetishization

and i saw that light
when i looked over at my
sister and there were tears
in her eyes and she
grabbed my hand so hard
that it hurt

and i saw that light
when the people sitting
next to us clapped
as the movie ended

and i saw that light
in simon and how
scary and painful being
unsure of how to come out can be
because people will look
at you differently
they always do

but that’s okay because
you’re not doing this for them
you’re doing it for you
you beautiful sunbeam of a person
so lay down your scars and
sharp edges and come sit
next to me and hold
my hand if you want to
if you need to

because we are alive to
see this movie
to finally exhale that breath
because we survived
who we were
to become who
we are meant to be

How diligently do you
deepen discourses
on philosophical,
social, and political
truths?

What is debatable,
palatable,
until it is unsayable,
cuz the unstable
will make horrible things
capable of happening.

A carnival of
constant rotations
declines and elevations,
disturbing mental visitations
paired with terrible hesitation.

The fetishization,
and circulation
of cultural appropriation,
hastened by caucasians
lack of emotional relations
to different groups
and their enforced stations
in our society.

How do we address
the inequality
when so many resist
the notion that it even exists?

So, the systems persists,
as I bang my head
against collectively created
mental bricks.