"legally" poems
We all want to Support
stopping racism,
because we sent black and white men to die in war together,
before we could be educated together,
The end gender inequality,
Because women can't where cloths,
and feel safe,
walking down a street alone,
with out feeling were going to get *****
Same or different *** relationships,
Because the way you love your significant other,
wouldn't be the same if they changed there gender to the other?
Transgender rights,
Because there a man everywhere else but in there pants,
And men don't get cervical cancers,
So yes legally changing my gender won't help me if i need a treatment only a lady would get,
and this goes vice a versa,
But I shouldn't have to worry about any other pains,
except the possibility of one in my unwanted ****
**** victims,
including males,
Yes you,
Feminist views,
Please just Stop over looking,
Men go though it too.
And we all may know men may be the main cause,
Women have just as much play,
No human,
Wants an unwanted Violation,
to come into any contact with them so personally,
See all these things,
we want to stop,
and they need to,
but,
When u last walked down the street,
what stranger did your Arrogant eyes peek?
they saw someone,
and you though they were,
too fat,
too small,
too tall,
a ****
needs to button up,
he used to pop pills,
now he cant pay his bills,
and there's so many I'm leaving out,
like what they thought about you,
so you see,
each of these little groups,
we just pass each other on the street,
even when we didn't even meet,
it's human nature,
our natural order,
to insult each other,
some just get the really blunt edge.
maybe we should change how we think and act,
before we go wishing for things out of our knack's.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 10:04 PM UTC
I am not at fault.
I didn't do anything wrong.
Why am I being treated as though I did?
Stop it with the pity and the shame.
I am not ashamed. I don't need pity.
Especially not yours.
Life is messed up, but I am not.
One in five. one in five. ONE IN FIVE
One in five LGBTQ+ people have been mistreated because of their ****** orientation. It's not that hard to find these statistics. Look it up. Look up anything about LGBTQ+ people and I'm sure you'll find mistreatment.
I'm sure you'll find harm.
I'm sure you'll find that they harm themselves.
Because they feel at fault.
It's not their fault that they feel a common emotion towards another person you, selfish, close-minded..
mmm.
No.
Four in five. four in five. FOUR IN FIVE
Don't talk about it.
The way they were mistreated.
If you don't really get that
If you can't really fathom that
Almost all of them
Almost every single one of these people that have been mistreated don't even talk about it they don't reach out they don't tell
anyone
NEARLY HALF
of LGBTQ+ people in school are bullied
Are mistreated
Are hurt
Are mocked
Are called names
***
******
***
In school.
Yeah, bullying happens all the time over stupid **** All the time. Wearing glasses, looking different, being gay.
I get it.
It happens.
Whatever.
Nearly half.
"72 countries criminalise same-sex relationships ...
The death penalty is either ‘allowed’, or evidence of its existence occurs, in 8 countries
In more than half the world, LGBT people may not be protected from discrimination by workplace law
Most governments deny trans people the right to legally change their name and gender from those that were assigned to them at birth
Between 2008 and 2014, there were 1,612 trans people were murdered across 62 countries - equivalent to a killing every two days
A quarter of the world’s population believes that being LGBT should be a crime"
Oh hey, just some statistics. Isn't that interesting. Isn't it cool to take a step back and check that out. That's pretty crazy huh? Pretty outrageous. But, you know, maybe if you weren't such a
***
I did nothing
wrong.
I tried to stop it.
I tried.
But how can you stop
Doing
What
Is
Natural.
People are hurting
People are dying
People are being killed
People are killing themselves
Stop it with the pity and the shame.
We are not to blame.
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 2:06 PM UTC
This trumpeter of nothingness, employed
To keep our reason dull and null and void.
This man of wind and froth and flux will sell
The wares of any who reward him well.
Praising whatever he is paid to praise,
He hunts for ever-newer, smarter ways
To make the gilt seen gold; the shoddy, silk;
To cheat us legally; to bluff and bilk
By methods which no jury can prevent
Because the law's not broken, only bent.
This mind for hire, this mental **********
Can tell the half-lie hardest to refute;
Knows how to hide an inconvenient fact
And when to leave a doubtful claim unbacked;
Manipulates the truth but not too much,
And if his patter needs the Human Touch,
Skillfully artless, artlessly naive,
Wears his convenient heart upon his sleeve.
He uses words that once were strong and fine,
Primal as sun and moon and bread and wine,
True, honourable, honoured, clear and keen,
And leaves them shabby, worn, diminished, mean.
He takes ideas and trains them to engage
In the long little wars big combines wage...
He keeps his logic loose, his feelings flimsy;
Turns eloquence to cant and wit to whimsy;
Trims language till it fits his clients, pattern
And style's a glossy **** or limping slattern.
He studies our defences, finds the cracks
And where the wall is weak or worn, attacks.
lie finds the fear that's deep, the wound that's tender,
And mastered, outmanouevered, we surrender.
We who have tried to choose accept his choice
And tired succumb to his untiring voice.
The dripping tap makes even granite soften
We trust the brand-name we have heard so often
And join the queue of sheep that flock to buy;
We fools who know our folly, you and I.
11.1k
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
Is it really this hard
to find people I can go back and forth in discussion with
about Buddhist and Hindu theology compared and contrasted against Christian and Yoruba
I want to scream and shout and dance with somebody over Janet Jackson's new album
and at the same time
feel the heat and talk with somebody about how extremely sad and depressing
but oh so good Giovanni's Room was
I want to be able to speak with somebody whom can quote Malcolm X and Kafka in the same breath
Somebody who could see the logic of Pac and Immortal Technique on the same piece
with the Budos Band or Mulatu on the back track
I want to know people whom know
just exactly who
Suki Lee and Bayard Rustin are
can we talk about Jacob Kinohoor's ***
at least for a moment
then get into some B.B. King or Johnny Cash
have you seen Dune
the one from the eighties
James McAvoy shirtless
as well as John Goodman’s acting
were only good things about the other
if you read it
even better
what about the ***** that sat by the door
Or
killer clowns from outer space
let's be shady and point out all the inaccuracies on the history and discovery and channels
praying for that day
that's not in February
They show Shaka Zulu in full
without commercial interruption
Or maybe a documentary about native American people
with actual native actors
that do not depict them all as either
plains people
Or Inuit
Cause you already know
not everybody is Eskimo
then let's put on our own private production of legally blonde
followed by encore presentations of the classic scene
Of Miss Celie and miss Ofelia going in over Harpo
can I discuss with you
how the Patriot act nullifies everything in constitution
And the bill of rights
even though they never were intended to be permanent any way
It would be nice to not have to explain a Corporatocracy
all my life Ive been into Egyptology
You do know that Imhotep was the actual founder of medicine
by a good 2000 years
not that Hippocrat
the thing is
I'm still learning
when attempt to delve that deeply into people
which I don't even consider that deep
They often misunderstand
They often concluded without thinking
maybe
just maybe
©Christopher F. Brown 2015
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 11:30 PM UTC
I've been around for centuries.
And will continue on.
I don't control my action.
I don't control my operator mood.
I just get accused.
When I lay a person down.
I didn't purchase myself.
A human purchase me.
I didn't load myself.
A person fulfilled that need.
I've been carried by the law enforcer legally for years.
And by the criminal influence a little longer.
When you have me in your hands.
You're the one in control.
Smith and Wesson some call me.
Other names seems to vary.
I'm protected by the second amendment.
And have the power to make a robber or burglar flee.
Yes, I am a gun.
Design to protect.
Design for show.
Create no problems.
And I lightly I won't be seen.
Except there's always one source that needs to meet me.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
I come from a dysfunctional family
right from the very start,
I come from a dysfunctional family,
because not one of them had a warm heart,
I witnessed sister against sister,
brother against brother,
two parent's that always drank *****
when they weren't arguing it is because
they were a fast a sleep in their bed room.
I was born into a dysfunctional family,
where no love was ever shown to me,
I saw my parent's send their oldest son
out into the cold world at 23.
When my oldest sister turned 17, she left my parent's
house because she could not take it see each other tearing each other
apart,
The youngest sister what can I say, she started to live in sin with a man
twice her age, but at least they made marriage work,
than what I would like to say, is she happy this I don't know,
she says she is but I don't know, they were separated for some time,
because all they did was argue just like our parent's did all the time.
I stayed in my parent's apartment until I was 18 year old, so I could legally leave,
I did the first of two mistakes I married a man who really did not love me.
The only good thing I could say about him he let me see the world,
but he was dreadfully cruel to me and I had leave him for my own good.
Now both my mother and father are dead,
so is oldest brother and sister, I don't know which way
they were judged and nor if they went to heaven.
I live my life in a quiet way, no one do I bother
I am this way for a reason because I all alone, because
all of those men I have loved have already been called
home.
Oct 6, 2011
Oct 6, 2011 at 6:57 PM UTC
reverence in poetry. everything to every person.
reader claims they can a necessary skill for
uncover the reverence. successful hypothecating and
in the scripts that (buying)poetry-creation outta nothing,
life straight hands me, tell them what thy want to hear,
for collection & correction, and they’ll call you laureate,
secretarial transcribing, instead of good listener
binding, typo correction or just a keen observer-fakir
mundane are the tasks, just take what they give ya,
that’s all them muses ask, dress it like Joseph in a
don’t interfere, taken what’s given, coat of many colors,
bow, curtsy, show respect, don’t let on your plagiarism
treat its aspects/instincts correctly is all them, redressed legally
you’re just the pass through agent, true you, gotta be smart about it,
patient for no payment expected, variant spellings, swinging verbs,
be our adherent, not our truant, be discreet, they’ll call your script
we appoint don’t disappoint, a real keeper and give love or sun,
accept our patent, render legit mucho poem emojis accoladeya
as for this reverence thinge devil in a blue dress, walk the streets
if I do my job ok, on any day, grabbing snatches of overhearings,
any poem could save a life, pressed into a single tunic, you think,
if I get the commas placed, he a genius, knows my thinking,
just right, the periods period, exactly, what a great poet and
while obeying the speed limit con/hu-man par excellent
them muses so **** pleased even fool muses, too full themselves,
by this true confession released, muses who think we stink and
and self deprecation, couldn’t do it without them
they call me reverend, great pretenders by stealing
imagine them silly folk, everything in everybody and
calling a big fat liar. all thieves and cape riders,
reverend, duh, the end original liars, pants on fire
before midnight and after 3:20am April 7~8, two oh nineteen
any message you send becomes my intellectual property, fool....
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 5:24 AM UTC
Honesty today
equates
with the sale of reality
legally and expediently
as a placebo
for propaganda.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 12:39 AM UTC
You laugh like I imagine an angel would
Your smile is like seeing the most beautiful sunset in the world
Your hair is perfect way too perfect
but I feel as though its not the outside of you that I love the most
it's that no matter how busy you are you have time to at least say "hi"
You make me smile more than I have in a while
The first time I saw you we had a staring contest across the cafeteria
You started putting your hands behind your head
I tried to do the same thing
But it felt awkward to me
I put them down and so my eyes went
I looked up and smiled and you smiled back
You're honest and sincere
And in my eyes you can do no wrong
All in all
You're amazing and smart
I'm so happy for you
This is how I see you
as you
well the you that I have seen so far
© 2013 Emily Larrabee. Legally Copyrighted, all rights reserved
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
The glow from your cigarette
emits just enough light
to cast a shadow and illuminate your eyes.
I'm legally blind, but not blind enough
to miss the tears you attempt to hide
as you inhale.
You don't think I can see,
so you smile and attempt to control
the tremor in your voice.
I pretend not to notice,
But I know that your
father made you
cry again.
You realize that I noticed,
and yet, you don't say a thing.
We both pretend I didn't see,
even though we're both bad at pretending.
The silence envelops us,
and we refuse to say anything.
We've always used unspoken excuses
as a barrier between us,
because we aren't brave enough,
because your problems are your problems,
and mine are mine.
But I know that your
father made you
cry again.
There isn't a good enough reason why.
We don't have to have one,
and we don't look for one either.
That's just the way it's always been,
and I don't expect it to change.
Even though it probably should,
we'll continue to pretend.
So I ask for a cigarette, and it
casts a shadow and illuminates my eyes,
that aren't really that blind,
Because I know that your
father made you
cry again.
And that won't change, no matter what we pretend.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 8:02 PM UTC
Just turned sixteen
a rage of hormones
erogenous zones
no more sexting
or wet dreams
your sixteen
you have our permission
to give in to your impulses
full submission
your pulse races
no more wishing
release your inhibitions
but before you do hold up and listen.
You can't drink and drive
yet you can think of life
for now any thought you conceive
can legally achieve
a new life you can breed
Should anyone so young have this much power?
to class it as fun and be deflowered
just because you can attain an ********
stand to attention
gives you the right to create perfection?
- when love isn't even mentioned.
Should we raise the age limit?
Would teenage pregnancies plummet?
but you say
they will still do it anyway
regardless
they couldn't care less
do you blame parents?
- or carers?
Maybe we need
a better educational system
to teach them.
It’s the media that feeds
into the body image
a consistent mirage
a constant barrage
of so called celebrities
having *** on TV
With the skinny waist
fake *****
and high heels
what a waste,
you choose
how you feel.
Take time to pause
and hold onto what’s yours
for once lost
you will pay its cost
your virginity
is its own currency
people will value you more
or label you a *****
a **** a slapper
a used ****** wrapper
go ahead tap her
she doesn't care
what you wear
or if you marry
take her cherry.
Just because it has a secondary function
doesn't mean you have to use your junk son.
the next time you get an ********
steer your mind in another direction
or at least use protection
so you don't spread STD's by infection
having *** so young can be tragic
take the time to think
or you may later regret it.
Don't give into peer pressure
Don’t use others as your measure
have *** at your leisure
when its your pleasure
when you're ready
not just because you've been going steady
protect your innocence
remain a princess
pretty in pink
abhor red
so think first
before bed.
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 9:40 PM UTC
One Person
Two Person
White Person
Black Person
Asian Person
Indian Person
Old Person
New Person
This one has no food to eat,
This one has a war to beat.
Say! What a lot of people there are.
Some are dead,
Some have no bed,
Some even have no roof over their head.
But why are they
Separated from each other?
I wouldn’t know,
Go ask another.
Some are thin,
Some are tall,
Some are fat,
And some can even be quite small.
From there to here, from here to there.
Trump wants to create walls,
So, we can’t travel anywhere.
To get water,
Some have to travel,
Barefoot, on sharp gravel.
For miles and miles
They have to travel.
White, Black, White, Black.
White, Black, White, Black.
All distinguished from the colour of their back.
Some have two friends,
Some have one,
Some have ten friends,
Some have none.
Where do we come from?
A long, long way.
From a war place,
Come here to be safe.
We see them come,
We see them go.
Some come legally,
Some come by boat.
Some are tall,
And some are short.
We’re all different,
But we’re all human.
Yet, we’re singled out,
Just because we’re men or women.
Why?!
Is it okay to scream and shout?
Lesbian, Straight, Bi or Gay.
Is it good to call someone out?
Did you think it was okay?
Black, White, Old, New,
Gay, Straight, Man, Woman,
Asian, Indian, American, African,
Don’t you realise we’re all human?
Human!
It’s not a reason to be rude,
Just because I am different to you.
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 6:47 PM UTC
Caesar Has No Authority Over The Grammarians
(Caesar non supra grammaticos)
I am licensed to drive.
I am licensed to broke.
I am licensed to be birthed.
I am licensed to marry, divorce and someday I will be
coroner-permission"end" to die.
If I so choose, I can be state approved to cut your hair,
have my own business, weld, own a dog, panhandle, play tennis in Central Park, dance in my own cabaret, even commit suicide legally.
These United States were a refuge for my foreign born parents,
Bless you both for privileging me such,
you gifted me a country where my voice, clear and unashamedly,
unguarded can speak here unafraid, for our
Caesar has no authority over the grammarians.
Tho the IRS gonna come after me, and king phony Barack,
Gonna eavesdrop on my privacy,
As long as I can write my poetry free and clear, untaxed,
won't ever mortgage my soul to any government hack
I will carry my U.S. passport in my left pocket over my heart,
Till they take my freedom to speak away.
Then I will get a gun for free speech is worth dying for...
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 8:21 PM UTC
<•>
BusBusNYC (A Live Love Bus App)
•<>•
if you made it this far, so fare one,
be undressed with thyself and impressed as well,
for thou joints me in holy matrimony upon a living map
where our presences can meet
in virtual real time as if eye new what that meant
but that blue dot is where this body possessed can be located by the nearest satellite finger snaking down from the heavens to Cain mark my foreheads location,
just like on Game of Thrones
don't you desire me, or rather,
the knowledge of mine
whereabouts?
the who of me, that very useful information, can best be
seen moving crosstown on the M72,
which is a mythological bus for in twenty years eye never
seen it come, go, though all its stops clearly marked
see me moving in fits and spurts of bursts of movement,
leaping streets and avenues in a single
unbounded, unstoppable superbus leap
in a city of anonymity where all who walk it streets,
ride the tides of its buses,
all ask a single Job-like question,
regardless of age,
"I am desirable, do you want me?"
eye say the ayes have it,
no,
this is not a great poem
but!
this live bus map app is the dating site ever created by
geeky human cells
alll this virtual meeting possibly leading to coitus
with a stranger while Pandora serenades
with perfect synchronicity, playing and plying us with
Romance for a Violin and Orchestra in F Minor,
a combination musical **** work of
Dvorak-Mehta-Midori
this bus app is
the social media's most immediate,
so meet me on the bus
at Broadway and 86 Street
where our metro cards can be
merged and we will be recognized
as a legal couple(ing)
in the eyes of MTA,
a multi-state agency and be bound in bustrimony
(legally married when riding on a city bus, only)
jeez, a crazy poem, not just, not a good one
but a true tale from the one who rides the buses and only
alights and delights with regaling tales and tellings
of love sortie sorrow maybe tomorrow the busbusNYC
app wil apply itself a smidgen better and
let me love you even with
a good under the hood
bus poem
but!
someday we will,
this, thy poet,
who does desire youalone,
will hijack you and a NYC bus,
and visit the poets from India and
the Great Northwest
won't that be a fabulous poem!
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 6:16 PM UTC
My Bio Poem
in third person:
Priestly
Author
Who wants to start T, legally change his name, and top surgery
Who needs therapy, medication, and to stop living in fear of being killed for being queer
Who feels like a freak, fear, and righteous anger
Who fears being killed for being queer, never getting “better,” and having his PTSD define him
Who would like to see that his trans brothers and sisters stop being killed, racist cops be held accountable to their actions, and the world becomes a safe space, ******
Lover of men and women (though not bisexual), caffeine, and the smell of new and old books
Resident of Rhododendron, Welches, Portland, and the LGBTQ+ community
Stout
My Bio Poem
in first person:
Priestly
Author
Who wants to start T, legally change my name, and top surgery
Who needs therapy, medication, and to stop living in fear or being killed for being queer
Who feels like a freak, fear, and righteous anger
Who fears being killed for being queer, never getting “better,” and having my PTSD define me
Who would like to see that my trans brothers and sisters stop being killed, racist cops be held accountable for their actions, and the world becomes a safe space, ******
Lover of men and women (though not bisexual), caffeine, and the smell of new and old books
Resident of Rhododendron, Welches, Portland, and the LGBTQ+ community
Stout
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 8:41 PM UTC
Stuck on the actual prime meridian
where gambling and grown up shenanigans
are viewed all *****
hurting society, though I could legally go to the drain on my street
and drop a thousand twenty pees in it
nae bother
our equivalent bet
as high rollers we are surely not
I miss you Vegas
with your daft anti-reality cushions,
the strip with no history or heritage
necessarily
but with goofy drunken dreams brimming alive
and I know vice, bad, horror, addiction yadda yadda
I miss you Vegas
Feb 28, 2021
Feb 28, 2021 at 10:43 AM UTC
I dread 2nd and King to this day.
I was born into a poor family:
dad the drunkard,
mom the **** addict,
brother abusive,
and sister wrist slitter,
in '84.
Mealtime portions measly.
The house's fragmented windows,
chipping paint
and carpet, ash stained beyond cleaning,
forced me to attempt an escape
several times.
Its a wonder we had a house at all!
I was the only one who worked.
From 10:00 until 7:00
in the dead of winter I used to stand
in clothes so thin
I was better off not even wearing them.
In '97 I was too young to work
legally.
But I wasn't too young for the men-
and I admit, some attractive-
who would pull up to
2nd and King.
I just crawled in the backseat,
assumed the position,
and took my beating
for not being born to the right family,
class,
city,
house...
...... corner...
..................men...
.................................
I can't look at that sign
marking the corner
without thinking of
crotch after crotch
until it was etched in my brain
that the male genitalia
was the epiphany of evil.
I have to turn my head.
I dread 2nd and King to this day.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
The Whys of My Briefcase
don't know where you keep yours,
mine, immediately resigned,
to my black briefcase
the bills I cannot pay,
the notices that I knew
would unfailingly come some day,
the letters to my children,
signed, sealed but never to be
delivered till much later, maybe,
by someone else's hand
and so,
I carry my briefcase
every day,
an appendage human,
opens only for additions,
never any subtractions,
many reminders included,
for letters previous posted, sent,
and stamped~marked
past, way past, overdue
the authorities demand satisfaction,
at the very least they want my
whereabouts
the doctors asks,
what's wrong,
you never filled that essential
prescription~poem I wrote for you,
that was even writ legible
so you could not deny its
existing urgency
that **** briefcase is so heavy,
tempted to chuck it into the Peconic,
but it was a loving gift from her,
not realizing that I carried no case,
just so burdens invisible
were imagined lighter, or extinct,
but easily ignored
where do you keep yours?
the forget~me~knots that you
don't want but can't crush
legally or courageously
when they open that unhappy pandora,
they will wonder why nothing was e'er said,
but they won't ask twice, but understand,
for who among us
does not have a black briefcase?
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 7:18 AM UTC
RIP -A Poem For Leelah Alcorn
Do not tell me
that it gets better
when another one of my
people another one of
my sisters
and surely thousands of brothers
but this sister
who I didn’t even get the
chance to meet
this sister
whose blog I only knew about
thanks to her suicide note
this sister
whose parents can’t even respect
her pronouns after she is dead
they did not lose a son
they drove a daughter
their daughter
to end her life
and even after her body
is not yet cold in the ground
still call her son
your darling son died years ago
and now your daughter is dead too
and she isn’t coming back
this isn’t an accident
I know what suicide looks like
I have almost been a victim many times
Do not tell me
that it gets better
when my sister is dead
and she is being misgendered
in the news articles and media
Do not tell me
that it gets better
when she
Leelah Alcorn
that is her name
was pushed to suicide by an
uncaring un-understanding world
Do not tell me
that it gets better
when my sister is dead
and her parents still have the nerve
to beg for sympathy and call
her a boy
even after death
Do not tell me
that it gets better
when we are still killing ourselves
only to be written off as mere statistics
and gender-identity
sexuality in and of itself
still isn’t taught in schools
Do not tell me
that it gets better
when my sister is dead
and I cannot attend her funeral
all I can do is write ****** poetry
and hope that she forgives me for not
being able to speak around the lump
in my throat
Do not tell me
that it gets better
when countless people that were
born in the wrong body
that do not fit the norms
will be misgendered at their funerals
Do not tell me
that it gets better
because the harsh reality is
that thousands of us will
live life in fear
drowning in a hopelessness
and sadness that nobody else knows
because not all of us have accepting
families and friends
and our suicides will be written off
as mere accidents
but nobody steps in front of
a semi on accident
Do not tell me
that it gets better
when my sister died knowing
thinking knowing thinking knowing
that her parents didn’t love her
they loved their son
they will mourn their son
when it is their daughter that died
and she will never know a true mothers and fathers love
Do not tell me
that it gets better
when the harsh truth is that
if I do not change my name legally
I too will be
misgendered at my funeral
Do not tell me
that it will get better
when my sister is dead
unless you want to feel the wrath
of my transgender rage
over the injustice that is written across the scars on our wrists and signed on the dotted lines of our suicide notes
Do not tell me
that it will get better
because my sister died not
knowing that
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 11:34 PM UTC
A 14 year old tender,
Came with a situation
He can’t decide his gender
Social keys challenging perception.
A prof. got suspended from his job
Coz he can’t love a woman in the ****
His feelings for affection were just like us
But for men, that he can’t discuss.
A girl of 25 don’t want to marry
Coz she love her girlfriend back in bury
She know it’s impossible to do this
As the law prevent love between two fairies
Now the question arises
If love has no boundaries
Why our brains are in cages?
As metals are casted in a foundry
God has made us in different pages.
We all pray equally
As do lesbians and gays
We all love equally
As do Bisexuals and Transgender
We all make friends evenly
As any girl or a boy
So why we can’t love legally?
Think and make others think
We all are humans, catch the link.
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 12:45 AM UTC
I’m a few hours
and minutes
and seconds
away from adding a year
to my relatively irrelevant age
and I contemplate the complexities
of such a small number.
Nineteen.
Legally an adult,
but not nearly ready
to enter the world
on my own.
I cannot even fathom
braving the hallways of
horrendous high school
or
supporting myself and
being on time for my insurance
all while balancing a career
I’m stuck in the middle
of this whirlwind
of emotions and numbers
and candles and time
and homework and paychecks
and everything else
that comes with the titles of
student and teenager
and adult and employee.
It’s minutes before
I can blow out the candles
on eighteen
but I also extinguish another bit
of dependence.
*August 10, 2014
9:13:43 PM*
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC
Smiling and communicating is such a pain
But these things I must everyday feign
Because this is a world that lives in a lie
They avoid the truth even if it’s staring them in the eye
I must wear a mask to live in this place
They’d slaughter me if they saw my real face
I’m a rare breed though I’m not the only one alive
Eliminating them makes me the fittest to survive
The ones who make everyone happy are the ones most sad
Perhaps because they don’t want others to have a past so bad
Its true when they say don’t judge a book by its cover
I’m a serial killer; not a friend, nor your lover
Though what I do is for those whose justice is denied
A punishment I receive is I have no one to confide
It’s not the beauty outside but what’s beyond the façade
I have to measure my steps and always choose the right card
Though what I do is not legally right
I punish those who are demons of the night
I am Dexter, master of disguise
It’s not the truth that defines me; it’s my lies...
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 10:42 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