"gayer" poems
I'm a lot gayer than originally planned.
******* Gay.
But I'm worried about the concept;
not sure if it's right to use the word
“gay”
when (I'm sorry I said it)
I'm really bisexual,
just particularly into women right now.
Like,
is that bad representation
of my sexuality?
Only encouraging
bi-erasure?
It just doesn't have the same
“umph”
to say
I'm feeling particularly
bisexual today.
But I've been telling myself
over and over
that it's okay,
no matter what
I'm feeling today.
I don't
need
your
box
anymore.
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 1:33 PM UTC
I met her on a narrow street of old Verona
Her beauty’s magical, her name was Lady Mona
She rolled a cigarette between her diva fingers
A little cherry smoke around her gently lingers
She had a long deep fire-coloured autumn hair
That with the wind dance as if out of very care
Her eyes are brighter, gayer then azure sapphires
Two little diamonds that can start unholy fires
Her ******* are full of life, the sweetest goddess milk
It taste like childhood memories wrapped up in silk
The skin – an undiscovered lands of sinful wild
It sends you on a trip so rough yet very mild
She was so picturesque, a genuine sugarbomb
Like rays of sun that dazzle through a naked palm
I pray thee, Jupiter, align the heaven stars
And let me be the one who strikes of her guitars
Wish I could walk to her and ask her dearly out
I feel so brave yet nervous, want to scream and shout
I want to spill it out, express my inner passion
But that’s not me behaving in such crazy fashion
Hell to the no! I go! I’ll spit my fire lines!
I am a blonde! I curse those stupid *** designs
I’ll offer things to her, I promise I’ll pushy
**** I am gonna offer her my cola *****
If men be ***** models, I shall be one too
I have one in my mouth – a nasty point of view
If men can flirt and conquer, so can ******* I
This Aphrodite’s taken, she is only mine
I walk to her, approach her like the mighty Taurus
Rehearse my lyrics, shuffle through my love thesaurus
I smell perfume – ambrosia, nectar, lemonade…
Formation, hold up, queen of… ******* Lemonade..?
“What is the name of thee, do tell me, pretty dear
Just like the beauty goddess you to me appear
By any chance you are one of the youthful Graces?
Be careful, darling, I can see your leather laces”
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 2:42 PM UTC
I'm going gay, nearly all the way, just let me stay the opposite
Way for a little longer-I'm not stronger than the me that
I somehow always had a choice not to be.
...!?!
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 11:50 AM UTC
12
The morns are meeker than they were—
The nuts are getting brown—
The berry’s cheek is plumper—
The Rose is out of town.
The Maple wears a gayer scarf—
The field a scarlet gown—
Lest I should be old fashioned
I’ll put a trinket on.
3.3k
*If we went any "gayer" I would be **** free.
Peace, put down your guns and stop firing,
k, make more luv not war! Let it be, let it be...*
Why is it that when there is a war
Everyone has to run and join?
I guess this doesn't sound right,
Perhaps I'm just going blind?
Where is Uncle Sam when I'm mugged
Running through an alley for my life?
Where is the honest soldier when these
Drunk military "saints" just hit their wives?
I am always here, my heart is just the same,
I know there is always war, but why can't
We at least try to make a change?
Just because it's always been, doesn't mean
It must always and forever remain!
How are you military guys so sure
That you're part of the cure, not the pain?
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 11:47 PM UTC
7
The feet of people walking home
With gayer sandals go—
The Crocus— til she rises
The Vassal of the snow—
The lips at Hallelujah
Long years of practise bore
Til bye and bye these Bargemen
Walked singing on the shore.
Pearls are the Diver’s farthings
Extorted from the Sea—
Pinions— the Seraph’s wagon
Pedestrian once— as we—
Night is the morning’s Canvas
Larceny— legacy—
Death, but our rapt attention
To Immortality.
My figures fail to tell me
How far the Village lies—
Whose peasants are the Angels—
Whose Cantons dot the skies—
My Classics veil their faces—
My faith that Dark adores—
Which from its solemn abbeys
Such ressurection pours.
2.5k
You were laying in the backyard on your lawn,
And you said we had done too much MDMA so
We might as well make it a cocktail and do some K.
And as we did it off the log pile under the tree
Your nose started to bleed,
Because earlier we had done coke.
We were such dumb kids,
It is even amazing that we were still alive.
And as we ran inside to make ice cream sundaes
I tripped over my own feet,
And then decided to make out with grass,
Because I fell in love with nature.
And we found a tarp,
And some silver and purple and black and yellow paint.
And we decided to get naked and become human paintings.
And it didn't matter that I was engaged because you are gayer than Tim Gun.
And I made a pond on your back,
With fish swimming up the river of your legs.
And we took pictures
And cried because we were the most beautiful models.
You decided you were superman and tried to climb the wood pile.
You fell so gracefully,
It was like you were a moving piece of art.
I gave you stitches and accidentally sewed a heart into your leg,
You did not mind.
You told me it was the only heart you had right now.
So I told you that scared me,
That it made me want to die
And I took the scissors and cut my leg.
But you took it away
And I made out with the grass again.
Simple is as simple does,
I am here now because because.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 11:37 PM UTC
I wanted to give you my all
But whats the point if im just gana fall
Thers a side of me you'll probably never know
Maybe its best it we take it slow
Because theres things you leave unsaid
Leading to ******** in my head
Why does everything feel so wrong
**** it ill take a couple of hits from this ****
On weekends ill take a night off with my ladys
Now im all dolled up and suddently im your baby
But when i needed my man you werent around
No time for sorry sssh i dont want to hear a sound
Cuz you keep feeding me these lies
Same old **** like all these other guys
Ever heard you cant play a player
This game is too easy you ****** make me gayer
Jun 7, 2012
Jun 7, 2012 at 11:27 AM UTC
Shakespeare, I'm writing you an emo poem.
Tyler cuts his wrists and plays piano 'cause he's so depressed.
You can tell it's not an exorcism though, since you can hear his lisp.
I don't play piano anymore (the ivories no longer tickle my fancy)
and I never really cut,
unless you count the symmetry,
or lack of it;
besides, I've always had a father.
Do you believe in demons, bard?
I'm not familiar enough with your works to know;
English didn't interest me much beyond the grammar.
Maybe that's a possession in itself, or an obsession at least,
since I don't think I could do the Devil justice--
and I'm none to bring light from darkness.
Do golden glittered gowns prove earnings or entitlement?
A different wealth perhaps, the philosopher kings of old (Do you know of those? I can't imagine otherwise, such a trove of inspiration).
I would not hold it against you if you didn't;
your productions sold for pennies,
and in the very least you were a man (or so the rumor goes).
All facades aside, I would inquire about purpose.
Were you satisfied with life? Were you not?
Did you desire a longer lease?
Would you say I should?
My outward walls are painted very gaily,
gayer than yours in all likelihood, or my boyfriend would say as much.
(I can't speak for the fashion of the times.)
Yet when I suffer loss, it seems absolute, one end and the other.
Do you approve of modern day's catharsis?
I expect a proper follow-up.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 2:32 AM UTC
39
It did not surprise me—
So I said—or thought—
She will stir her pinions
And the nest forgot,
Traverse broader forests—
Build in gayer boughs,
Breathe in Ear more modern
God’s old fashioned vows—
This was but a Birdling—
What and if it be
One within my *****
Had departed me?
This was but a story—
What and if indeed
There were just such coffin
In the heart instead?
1.5k
Oh, Muse, bemused me, no true self have I
Many a-mask have fallen to paint me
My canvas is contrite and still I lie
And, oh, for Fortune you’re denied to see
What foul bristles wash and stroke mien anew
Today was blue, yester a shade gayer,
Tomorrow, expect my art gift to you
Quick, more pastels! New friends, another layer
But, like any piece, Time wills it ‘way fade.
And perfection tainted by the past one,
Please ask yourself, who amongst is not made?
And whose vibrant colors have not mixed dun?
Come, let’s look on at my new piece,
So the patrons of my art ever increase.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
I buckle to my slender side
The pistol and the scimitar,
And in my maiden flower and pride
Am come to share the tasks of war.
And yonder stands my fiery steed,
That paws the ground and neighs to go,
My charger of the Arab breed,--
I took him from the routed foe.
My mirror is the mountain spring,
At which I dress my ruffled hair;
My dimmed and dusty arms I bring,
And wash away the blood-stain there.
Why should I guard from wind and sun
This cheek, whose ****** rose is fled?
It was for one--oh, only one--
I kept its bloom, and he is dead.
But they who slew him--unaware
Of coward murderers lurking nigh--
And left him to the fowls of air,
Are yet alive--and they must die.
They slew him--and my ****** years
Are vowed to Greece and vengeance now,
And many an Othman dame, in tears,
Shall rue the Grecian maiden's vow.
I touched the lute in better days,
I led in dance the joyous band;
Ah! they may move to mirthful lays
Whose hands can touch a lover's hand.
The march of hosts that haste to meet
Seems gayer than the dance to me;
The lute's sweet tones are not so sweet
As the fierce shout of victory.
1.4k
The fresh savannas of the Sangamon
Here rise in gentle swells, and the long grass
Is mixed with rustling hazels. Scarlet tufts
Are glowing in the green, like flakes of fire;
The wanderers of the prairie know them well,
And call that brilliant flower the Painted Cup.
Now, if thou art a poet, tell me not
That these bright chalices were tinted thus
To hold the dew for fairies, when they meet
On moonlight evenings in the hazel bowers,
And dance till they are thirsty. Call not up,
Amid this fresh and ****** solitude,
The faded fancies of an elder world;
But leave these scarlet cups to spotted moths
Of June, and glistening flies, and humming-birds,
To drink from, when on all these boundless lawns
The morning sun looks hot. Or let the wind
O'erturn in sport their ruddy brims, and pour
A sudden shower upon the strawberry plant,
To swell the reddening fruit that even now
Breathes a slight fragrance from the sunny slope.
But thou art of a gayer fancy. Well--
Let then the gentle Manitou of flowers,
Lingering amid the bloomy waste he loves,
Though all his swarthy worshippers are gone--
Slender and small, his rounded cheek all brown
And ruddy with the sunshine; let him come
On summer mornings, when the blossoms wake,
And part with little hands the spiky grass;
And touching, with his cherry lips, the edge
Of these bright beakers, drain the gathered dew.
1.4k
your father did not stay long enough to teach you these things, all he stayed for was the birth certificate and the first looks at you naked. but you don't tell people about that, same as you don't talk about all the times he's come back for the same thing.
and despite your mother's best efforts and cookies, you did not stay long enough for her to teach you. it is why you think you are like your father, this endless string of leavings.
and so it is that i, the worst teacher of them all, have been forced to tell you this.
and i am much better written down, or at least i'm braver.
so these are Your Guidelines:
The Way to Reach From The Whiteness:
do not love boys with shallow eyes, because they will always turn out to be deep, and you will feel betrayed
do not love girls just because they look like boys , or because you think that will make them happier.
your only fault my dear is that you think all you are good for is to be someone else's everything, even though you have seen how impossible it is.
for once, please let yourself be only a little, with sometime else to fill in the gaps and together you will be everything.
don't run around the block when you think you should, only run when the running is the only thing keeping you sane.
when you are making love, remember that what you are doing is not *** you are trying to get into each other's skin, and under each other's fingernails.
wear the pink shirt.
it will not make you any gayer than you already are
you will go to university, i know you will
stay there, for once resist the urge to leave and turn up at my window again.
stay, learn the things no one knows, until you find your favourite book, and a boy with skin the colour of you carpet and eyes and colour of your wallpaper, for he is already home.
treat him the care, love him the only way there is, with sweet kisses and midnight dances.
do not be afraid to hold his hand, it will not burn like the others
learn how to hide your hands from people who will see them as your father's, made for the same things.
keep your hands on you guitar, around the pencil, do not let them think they can take these things away from you
you are not your father.
i know you will do the right things.
and i know you will die, but before this, you will live and you will be happy, always.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC
**Feel the urge
The need
To stealthily glide through the night
To 'feed'
Allow my instinct, to gracefully move me
I'm the main character in my own vampire movie
A potential threat to society
Like a psycopathic sixteen year old just released from juvie
The difference is
My charm pulls you in, attracts you
Before the predator in me violently attacks you
I'm a hunter, masculine not feminine
It's my night
I stalk prey, so I can't afford to sparkle
This isn't "Twilight"
I'm the deadliest fantastic legend
Or so they think
But what if I was real?
I'd be "Blade"
Edward Cullen is gayer than "Pink".**
Dec 14, 2010
Dec 14, 2010 at 8:24 PM UTC
Sustainably globally gay – we need more of it / socially-conscious progressive group-think / openness through tolerance of diversity in perversity / justice for more more more of gay gay gay / it’s progress it’s now its queer-friendly because it's sustainably globally gay / when gay gets gayer the queering gets clearer / so let's start the conversation about homo-homo gayness / inclusion through cluelessness in transparent openness / by the way - get GAY / before the homosexual conversation queers the queerness of the ongoing conversation / let's celebrate gayness, OK ?
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 11:19 PM UTC
“A lovely moon tonight” she said.
“It’s the same moon it was last night” he said.
“It looks slightly different somehow” she said.
“It’s exactly the same ****** moon” he said.
“I think it’s fuller tonight” she said.
“Of course it’s fuller tonight” he said.
“It’s brighter and gayer tonight” she said.
“The moon is no gayer tonight” he said.
“It seemed so sad last night” she said.
“How could the moon seem sad?” he said.
“The moon dies every night” she said.
“And ferries the souls of the recently dead,
Into the darkness just out of reach
It circles the globe unseen and *****
It pries open the sky at evening’s breach
The moon has been reborn” she said.
He gave her a look of scorn and dread
“What’s gotten into your head?”
“A lovely moon tonight” she said.
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 4:25 PM UTC
In high school middle school and even elementary
I wasn’t in the popular crowd or the cool kids
I was just on the sidelines like I wasn’t even there
I was the kid known as that fairy kid, the queer, and the ****
I wasn’t known as who I really am.
So when I walked down the halls
I could hear them call me names
I saw them point and laugh
I still do.
I can still remember everyone that has called me names. Queer
I can still feel it resonating in my head. ***
I still hear the laughter in the throbbing pain in my head
like the pressure of my blood pumping through. ****
I see their faces floating around like in the movies.
---In reality sometimes they’re gayer than me
I cried almost every time I was in the shower
No one could hear me
No one could see me
No one could feel the same way as I did
I would always look at the razors sitting there beside me
Trying to get my self to just grab it.
And see if the pain would go away with just one cut
I almost tried to commit suicide
I couldn’t use the razor
The sight of blood makes me faint,
I needed an alternative.
Then fire caught my eye,
and then my skin.
The pain felt like it was cold then like a bee sting all at once
But I did it more I could still hear those names
I could still see them staring and laughing
It wouldn’t go away
It couldn’t
I did this for months
Until I faced the truth that it would never take away the pain
The pain was there, is there, and always will be there
Their face will still laugh and taunt me in the back of my mind
But times are getting better
I have my friends and family to help
The pain is still there just not as bad with their help
But that’s the story behind the smile
And if I was gay
Does it matter?
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 1:19 PM UTC
Tiny moving parts,
A spirit of synchronicity
That I had ruminated on:
How it starts,
And they stop
Wrought of genius
And simplicity
The dawn and fall of humankind
All seated on a wrist
Swinging forward and behind
In whose fate
The hands so twist.
Dusting charcoal from glitt’ring grin
Mocking in a single prayer
Each second, loud
And growing gayer
Penitence for that second’s sin
For blank, so empty
The vessel sat
Covered, not covering,
In the grayish-black
Wasted time in unused power
The watch but looks away
Meager, sour
Persistent still
‘Till wakened by the rested hour
Where dawn illumes
The hideous sight: a failure
A void in Dis’ sweet hall
God’s hand stained in graphite
And no grace upon creation
Did any of it fall.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 8:36 AM UTC
To hate someone
so fiercely,
To have been hurt
beyond conception,
And yet still
care?
Wanting to so badly
just smash my head
against the wall and
make it stop.
How could I still..
After all you did?
No better yet ..
How could you?!
How could you throw me out
So viciously?
Naked, broken,
Pregnant
Again.
With that sinister smile
on your face
As you enjoyed it.
Every step of the way.
Growing gayer
off of my sheer devastation.
There is no way I could still..
**** dear god why do I still..
No I dont still..
I wish I didn't still..
Love
You.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 1:18 AM UTC
In which direction do we go
I cannot tell
for I am lost and do not wish to walk with you
through night's brisk air.
Once about the corner turn
The crunch of gravel spews from our heels.
To walk with you I cannot bear.
My wrapper held fast by a pin
My voice tucked in a woolen shield
I do not wish to walk with you
And speak of times much gayer than these.
Brisk we step
Slow we turn
Onto the street where we first met
Thus our beginning is our end.
I do not wish to walk with you again.
Sep 16, 2010
Sep 16, 2010 at 10:43 AM UTC
It would be heaven to be near you again
If you loved me half as much as I love you
It is even now heaven to hope to know you
Again. I have this sense now that we getting
Together. Life is getting better just thinking
That you might love me half as much as I do
You. Its like a dream come alive after death
I will do what ever you desire and we will be
In heaven allowed because it is you I love-
And I will not forget how long it has been so
Good will it be when next we are together -if
You love me half as much as I love you it will
Be soon enough if you will just agree an't love
Grand Just Too Wonderful for words.
With intentions true we have got time on
Our side and heaven- is in sight. There is no
Hurry still I cannot wait. I see two phantoms
In the gloom=It is us we two right now- we
Approach in the mist those golden gates on
High where we wiii be joined together Almost
I hear the angels sing and the trumpets announce
Love Love is is it not a wonderful thing? Two that
Were parted- are still in love .
Where death is not known but the broken hearts are
Healed. Of this day the angels sing:
Glory Glory Glory to God in the highest
Glory Glory Hallelujah
For now and all the times still to come
Oh little
flower
Does it
Seem I
Make too
Much of Love
Perhaps you would
Have me gayer
Give me
Time its just I have
Missed you so
Much
*French song"
Long Temp Que Je t'aime Jamais Je non t"Oublerai
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 4:56 PM UTC
Subtle desperation is grimmer
than snow.
Wanting is gayer when wanting’s not broke.
And maybe I’d fall out of practice
Lull before even begun-
Fester in my own private scrutiny,
but at least I’m not longing for you.
At least I’m not chasing
the boys I’d never wanted to.
At least mine is a secret cradled,
nurtured, unknown, and safe.
Jul 14, 2020
Jul 14, 2020 at 11:28 PM UTC