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"tomboy" poems
Hindi matigas lahat ng bato Hindi lalago ang halamang nakatago Pero kung bubunutin din naman Anong silbi ng pagkakakilanlan? Itaas ang kamay kung ginawa mo ito: Ituro sa kapatid na bakla ang tito mo, Kung gayon, ito ay duwag at gago, Tingnan bilang presong kulong sa kandado At kung sapatos ni kuya, suot ng ate mo, Walang alam ni isa, pero sa ina sinabi mo Nasaksihan ang paglisan ng nagturong pumorma Narinig ang galit ng ama, sigaw ay "imoral ka!" Putang ina, lahat iyon ay narinig mo Hindi na kaya ng sentido mo Mali ito, mali ito ang pilit ng lipunan sayo Iwaksi mo, iwaksi mo, at tatanggapin ka nito Sa oras na lumabas ka, wala ka nang pangalan At araw-araw sa buhay mo, tila umuulan Ng husga, ng ismid, ng dura sa sahig Tawag sainyo ng kasintahan ay bawal na pag-ibig Tomboy, bakla, bayot, tibo Araw na binigyan ka ng ngalan tila naglaho Binato ng panghahamak na gusto mo nang lumisan Kaysa tanggapin ang galit na pinagmulan ay di alam 'Mahalin mo ang 'yong kapwa' Banggit at turo ng May Likha Pero bakit may galit ata Nagpahayag nito't nagsalita? Hindi ba itinuturing na kapwa sila? Na kasama **** lumaki, magdalaga? Kalaro ng chinese garter baga, Kahit alam **** lalaki naman talaga siya Ang saya na dulot niya di mo naalala Nang minsan sa kanto'y sutsutan siya Sapatos lang daw at k'onting barya Tiningnan ka niya, ikaw ay tumawa Saan ba ang lugar sa mundo para sa kanya? Mahirap bang sabihin, katagang, 'tanggap kita?' Tingin mo ba'y karamdaman kanyang nadarama? Oh bakit nakangiti ka? Nahawa ka ba? Kaya ba't ka umiiwas nang nalaman mo na? Bilang kaibigan, oo nabigla ka nga Pero 'wag mo naman sanang isiping Naisip niya minsang ika'y makasiping Alisin na natin ang malawakang pag-iisip Na pandirihan ang kakaiba, pero subukan **** sumilip, Lalawak ang saradong takip Sana isang araw ang hangin, magbago ang ihip Maging magkasama, pantay-pantay sa ibabaw ng isang ulap Nawa'y mga anak nati'y maranasan, ekwalidad sa hinaharap Matapos na ang inis at galit Pagmamahal ang pumalit
0
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 5:57 AM UTC
AndieBonifacio
Isipin mo
Hindi matigas lahat ng bato Hindi lalago ang halamang nakatago Pero kung bubunutin din naman Anong silbi ng pagkakakilanlan? Itaas ang kamay kung ginawa mo ito: Ituro sa kapatid na bakla ang tito mo, Kung gayon, ito ay duwag at gago, Tingnan bilang presong kulong sa kandado At kung sapatos ni kuya, suot ng ate mo, Walang alam ni isa, pero sa ina sinabi mo Nasaksihan ang paglisan ng nagturong pumorma Narinig ang galit ng ama, sigaw ay "imoral ka!" Putang ina, lahat iyon ay narinig mo Hindi na kaya ng sentido mo Mali ito, mali ito ang pilit ng lipunan sayo Iwaksi mo, iwaksi mo, at tatanggapin ka nito Sa oras na lumabas ka, wala ka nang pangalan At araw-araw sa buhay mo, tila umuulan Ng husga, ng ismid, ng dura sa sahig Tawag sainyo ng kasintahan ay bawal na pag-ibig Tomboy, bakla, bayot, tibo Araw na binigyan ka ng ngalan tila naglaho Binato ng panghahamak na gusto mo nang lumisan Kaysa tanggapin ang galit na pinagmulan ay di alam 'Mahalin mo ang 'yong kapwa' Banggit at turo ng May Likha Pero bakit may galit ata Nagpahayag nito't nagsalita? Hindi ba itinuturing na kapwa sila? Na kasama **** lumaki, magdalaga? Kalaro ng chinese garter baga, Kahit alam **** lalaki naman talaga siya Ang saya na dulot niya di mo naalala Nang minsan sa kanto'y sutsutan siya Sapatos lang daw at k'onting barya Tiningnan ka niya, ikaw ay tumawa Saan ba ang lugar sa mundo para sa kanya? Mahirap bang sabihin, katagang, 'tanggap kita?' Tingin mo ba'y karamdaman kanyang nadarama? Oh bakit nakangiti ka? Nahawa ka ba? Kaya ba't ka umiiwas nang nalaman mo na? Bilang kaibigan, oo nabigla ka nga Pero 'wag mo naman sanang isiping Naisip niya minsang ika'y makasiping Alisin na natin ang malawakang pag-iisip Na pandirihan ang kakaiba, pero subukan **** sumilip, Lalawak ang saradong takip Sana isang araw ang hangin, magbago ang ihip Maging magkasama, pantay-pantay sa ibabaw ng isang ulap Nawa'y mga anak nati'y maranasan, ekwalidad sa hinaharap Matapos na ang inis at galit Pagmamahal ang pumalit
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52
you don't know me. Maybe you think you do. I'm that tomboy who loves videogames and can solve a rubiks cube in a mere minute. I'm that girl who talks a lot to boys. Because that's just where i fit in. I'm that **** who flirts with every guy she sees. But that's not the truth at all. That's not me Actually I love nail polish and videogames, but in this society you have to identify as either masculine or feminine. You can't be somewhere in the middle. Actually i don't fit in with the boys. they're just better at accepting that I'm who I am. I don't fit in anywhere. I have a flirtasious personality. But I've been in a realationship with a guy that i Love for a year now. And I haven't even thought about cheating. I don't even know if that's who I am.. the only thing i know is that i'm not male, but I dont feel female either. That I'm not alone but still feel so lonely sometimes. Who am I and who do I wanna be?
0
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 4:12 PM UTC
soanxious
Who am I?
you don't know me. Maybe you think you do. I'm that tomboy who loves videogames and can solve a rubiks cube in a mere minute. I'm that girl who talks a lot to boys. Because that's just where i fit in. I'm that **** who flirts with every guy she sees. But that's not the truth at all. That's not me Actually I love nail polish and videogames, but in this society you have to identify as either masculine or feminine. You can't be somewhere in the middle. Actually i don't fit in with the boys. they're just better at accepting that I'm who I am. I don't fit in anywhere. I have a flirtasious personality. But I've been in a realationship with a guy that i Love for a year now. And I haven't even thought about cheating. I don't even know if that's who I am.. the only thing i know is that i'm not male, but I dont feel female either. That I'm not alone but still feel so lonely sometimes. Who am I and who do I wanna be?
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20
My mother was a first generation lesbian. My father, a first generation divorcee. His father was the one child of a public school teacher. He found my grandmother at 18. A farm child, one of seven. A painter, a baker. My mother's father a single boy to three sisters. His aggressive masculinity kept the line clear and thick. He found my mother's mother at 17. A middle of seven Pentecostal children. A beauty queen, an agoraphobic. Each had five children. The door-to-door salesmen/ homemaker and mother of boys duo bet it all to open a hobby shop. They were by far the poorest of the watermelon farming siblings. They were artists and explorers. The high school graduate and ladies man, was a logger before a father. And the single mother of 25 he left scarcely left her home at all. Neither pair made it big. But they made my father. A lonely, post middle aged man. The poorest of his brothers. A used to be pilot, and could have been teacher, a want to be pioneer. A nuclear family super fan who never got his way. And they made my mother. A nervous, eccentric hippie who doesn't know how to talk to her siblings. A woman working her *** off to excel at lower middle class. A builder, a fighter, a **** good mother. Even if accidentally so. She has plans to travel. He has dreams to live by a lake. And they made me. A single girl among three boys. A quirky, nervous tomboy. A thinker, a gardener, a climber. A loser and a dreamer by blood.
0
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 5:20 PM UTC
kelsey-campbell
The Losers and The Dreamers
My mother was a first generation lesbian. My father, a first generation divorcee. His father was the one child of a public school teacher. He found my grandmother at 18. A farm child, one of seven. A painter, a baker. My mother's father a single boy to three sisters. His aggressive masculinity kept the line clear and thick. He found my mother's mother at 17. A middle of seven Pentecostal children. A beauty queen, an agoraphobic. Each had five children. The door-to-door salesmen/ homemaker and mother of boys duo bet it all to open a hobby shop. They were by far the poorest of the watermelon farming siblings. They were artists and explorers. The high school graduate and ladies man, was a logger before a father. And the single mother of 25 he left scarcely left her home at all. Neither pair made it big. But they made my father. A lonely, post middle aged man. The poorest of his brothers. A used to be pilot, and could have been teacher, a want to be pioneer. A nuclear family super fan who never got his way. And they made my mother. A nervous, eccentric hippie who doesn't know how to talk to her siblings. A woman working her *** off to excel at lower middle class. A builder, a fighter, a **** good mother. Even if accidentally so. She has plans to travel. He has dreams to live by a lake. And they made me. A single girl among three boys. A quirky, nervous tomboy. A thinker, a gardener, a climber. A loser and a dreamer by blood.
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49
Julie had never been one to partake in Girly things, dollies and frills Julie was one of those tomboy like girls Who looked out for adventurous thrills She loved riding bikes, down the hill at high speed Screaming loud with her hands in the air But Julie could not play in organized sports Her mum said the cash wasn't there She sat on the  sidelines and watched all the games To not play the game was a sin But Julie Macado would spend her whole life On the outside of things looking in. She knew all the players on all of the teams She wanted so badly to play But Julie Macado would learn pretty fast She was one of the have-nots that day In gym she was better than all of the guys She sank every shot that she tried But organized sports was just out of her league She was still sitting on the outside Her friends that she played with said "Go see the coach", maybe he'll let you join up When she told her poor mother that that's what's she'd do Her mother told her to shut up "I've done my best girl, to give you a life" "And charity...I'll never take" "If you're gonna play then you'll pay your own way "For you learn more when somethings at stake" So Julie went out, hustled, working part time Doing all that she could to make bucks But, when she had enough money to finally join in The season was done...and that ***** Even though she had shown she could be on the team She was finished and did not begin Poor Julie Macodo was still not on the team She was still outside looking in She worked all that summer making money galore She'd be ready to sign up that fall She had enough money to pay for herself She was going to play basketball Her mum lost her job in early July The plant that she worked at had closed Now she too was outside looking in at the others They would move...that was what she supposed Again Julie Macado would miss out again All of her money she gave to her mom She would be an outsider for all of her life Never playing a game...'cept for fun Even though she was better than all in her school She would never be in looking out Until that one day, when a man from Kentucky Had come up to Freeling to scout He'd heard of this girl, who could shoot from the floor She had skills that he had seldom seen He signed her on up to a four year free ride It was all like a really good dream He told her of how, he had gotten a letter About a young girl ..that was her It was written in crayon and a little bid blurry And it stated out with a Dear Ser, the spelling was bad, but he read it completely It told of how Julie could play But she had not school record, no history so He set out to see the girl play He contacted the school and he asked them for game films They said she played only in gym So he set out directly to see for himself The decision would be up to him Now, Julie Macado has realized her dream Her life is all set to begin She did it herself, with a note from her Mother She was no longer out looking in.
0
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 6:20 PM UTC
roger-turner
Outside Looking In
Julie had never been one to partake in Girly things, dollies and frills Julie was one of those tomboy like girls Who looked out for adventurous thrills She loved riding bikes, down the hill at high speed Screaming loud with her hands in the air But Julie could not play in organized sports Her mum said the cash wasn't there She sat on the  sidelines and watched all the games To not play the game was a sin But Julie Macado would spend her whole life On the outside of things looking in. She knew all the players on all of the teams She wanted so badly to play But Julie Macado would learn pretty fast She was one of the have-nots that day In gym she was better than all of the guys She sank every shot that she tried But organized sports was just out of her league She was still sitting on the outside Her friends that she played with said "Go see the coach", maybe he'll let you join up When she told her poor mother that that's what's she'd do Her mother told her to shut up "I've done my best girl, to give you a life" "And charity...I'll never take" "If you're gonna play then you'll pay your own way "For you learn more when somethings at stake" So Julie went out, hustled, working part time Doing all that she could to make bucks But, when she had enough money to finally join in The season was done...and that ***** Even though she had shown she could be on the team She was finished and did not begin Poor Julie Macodo was still not on the team She was still outside looking in She worked all that summer making money galore She'd be ready to sign up that fall She had enough money to pay for herself She was going to play basketball Her mum lost her job in early July The plant that she worked at had closed Now she too was outside looking in at the others They would move...that was what she supposed Again Julie Macado would miss out again All of her money she gave to her mom She would be an outsider for all of her life Never playing a game...'cept for fun Even though she was better than all in her school She would never be in looking out Until that one day, when a man from Kentucky Had come up to Freeling to scout He'd heard of this girl, who could shoot from the floor She had skills that he had seldom seen He signed her on up to a four year free ride It was all like a really good dream He told her of how, he had gotten a letter About a young girl ..that was her It was written in crayon and a little bid blurry And it stated out with a Dear Ser, the spelling was bad, but he read it completely It told of how Julie could play But she had not school record, no history so He set out to see the girl play He contacted the school and he asked them for game films They said she played only in gym So he set out directly to see for himself The decision would be up to him Now, Julie Macado has realized her dream Her life is all set to begin She did it herself, with a note from her Mother She was no longer out looking in.
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72
For our Echoing Little Red Riding Hoods Lagging behind in the Opposition Departments Lets help you out by  offering some buzzwords For your important assignments even though they've been floated around forever, But we understand you need some help catching up So memorize these basic premises And please enrich your lives and utilise your valuable time by raking your little brains to create  poems with them Lets begin with ITALIAN , don't forget RAINBOW, LIES is also in, add RESPECT, throw in RUDENESS, factor in LITTLE GIRL, remember ANGEL, write about TRUST, that much overuse term, throw in BLACK - that's quite a popular one. Also PINK is quite up the scale, as well as HEART- Broken ( as if ) and pleeeezee make a big fuss on LONELINESS That's a big seller. APPLE and SERPENT did appear now and again so trigger them as you like. How about BETRAYAL, LOYALTY, FAKE FRIENDS and that famous one, FOUR or is it THREE, what about BONES, Lets not forget SKELETON or even ANOREXIC, let also remember SCREAM, that was a scream..hahah see what I did there! Remember GREY that has a bit of colour and what about BUCK or even DOOR-MAT that was a wipe-off or SUBMISSIVE another popular one. Hmmm...what about HAIR CUT or TOMBOY or DIGITAL those are quite good or WOODGREEN or HULL or DOG that reared its head...woof....woof...hahahah or CEREAL, beats me what that's about or even MONEY..though that never was an issue, how about GOLD-DIGGER just for drama or 50/50 which has been mentioned. Hey! don't forget RED, what to do without that pinking away. So please  Little Hoods, students of the Opposition Department keep with the programme and work on these pointers crack your little brains and write poems like crazy little ants Your contribution is valuable cause persistent is the Key. Keep up with your assignment and forget all other things Oppose, oppose, oppose, work those little brains!
0
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 4:30 PM UTC
yenson
Echo Heads & Cowpat.....hahaha
For our Echoing Little Red Riding Hoods Lagging behind in the Opposition Departments Lets help you out by  offering some buzzwords For your important assignments even though they've been floated around forever, But we understand you need some help catching up So memorize these basic premises And please enrich your lives and utilise your valuable time by raking your little brains to create  poems with them Lets begin with ITALIAN , don't forget RAINBOW, LIES is also in, add RESPECT, throw in RUDENESS, factor in LITTLE GIRL, remember ANGEL, write about TRUST, that much overuse term, throw in BLACK - that's quite a popular one. Also PINK is quite up the scale, as well as HEART- Broken ( as if ) and pleeeezee make a big fuss on LONELINESS That's a big seller. APPLE and SERPENT did appear now and again so trigger them as you like. How about BETRAYAL, LOYALTY, FAKE FRIENDS and that famous one, FOUR or is it THREE, what about BONES, Lets not forget SKELETON or even ANOREXIC, let also remember SCREAM, that was a scream..hahah see what I did there! Remember GREY that has a bit of colour and what about BUCK or even DOOR-MAT that was a wipe-off or SUBMISSIVE another popular one. Hmmm...what about HAIR CUT or TOMBOY or DIGITAL those are quite good or WOODGREEN or HULL or DOG that reared its head...woof....woof...hahahah or CEREAL, beats me what that's about or even MONEY..though that never was an issue, how about GOLD-DIGGER just for drama or 50/50 which has been mentioned. Hey! don't forget RED, what to do without that pinking away. So please  Little Hoods, students of the Opposition Department keep with the programme and work on these pointers crack your little brains and write poems like crazy little ants Your contribution is valuable cause persistent is the Key. Keep up with your assignment and forget all other things Oppose, oppose, oppose, work those little brains!
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37
if i was a girl i wouldn’t shave i’d be a tomboy ballerina with upper body muscles maybe a **** or surfer girl smell a little subtle i’d be tough learn to take a punch but i’d also be fragile sensitive intelligent i’d dress down like female ducks gray beige brown yet wear thongs boots bikinis heals girl stuff if i was a girl i’d be freaked out by ************ and even more freaked out by menopause depressed i lost my wetness if i was a girl i’d flash *** crotch drive boys wild be a complete nymphomaniac **** until i found the right guy he’d be strong gentle patient caring with a cute ***** i don’t care how big if i was a girl i’d learn to give blow jobs really good acquire a taste for ***** and play that skill as my trump card if i was a girl i’d find a job roll up my sleeves be a hard worker impress my managers become a manager quit i would find another type of work maybe a writer painter if i was a girl i wouldn’t compete with men i’d simply be more creative smarter if i was a girl i’d want to give birth as scary profound as that might be i’d want to be a mom a nurturing loving attentive mom i’d garden cook sew clean stand by my man my children devoted to home and hearth if i was a girl i’d cry a lot but not in front of anyone if i was a girl i wouldn’t want to become an old woman surrounded by other old women taking care of sick old men or no old men if i was a girl i’d want to die instantly in an accident or in bed reaching ****** age 82 if i was a girl
0
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 7:37 AM UTC
michael-reid-rubenstein
if i was a girl
if i was a girl i wouldn’t shave i’d be a tomboy ballerina with upper body muscles maybe a **** or surfer girl smell a little subtle i’d be tough learn to take a punch but i’d also be fragile sensitive intelligent i’d dress down like female ducks gray beige brown yet wear thongs boots bikinis heals girl stuff if i was a girl i’d be freaked out by ************ and even more freaked out by menopause depressed i lost my wetness if i was a girl i’d flash *** crotch drive boys wild be a complete nymphomaniac **** until i found the right guy he’d be strong gentle patient caring with a cute ***** i don’t care how big if i was a girl i’d learn to give blow jobs really good acquire a taste for ***** and play that skill as my trump card if i was a girl i’d find a job roll up my sleeves be a hard worker impress my managers become a manager quit i would find another type of work maybe a writer painter if i was a girl i wouldn’t compete with men i’d simply be more creative smarter if i was a girl i’d want to give birth as scary profound as that might be i’d want to be a mom a nurturing loving attentive mom i’d garden cook sew clean stand by my man my children devoted to home and hearth if i was a girl i’d cry a lot but not in front of anyone if i was a girl i wouldn’t want to become an old woman surrounded by other old women taking care of sick old men or no old men if i was a girl i’d want to die instantly in an accident or in bed reaching ****** age 82 if i was a girl
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1
oh you must be emo i mean the way your music screams and screeches oh you must be a preppy little ***** i mean the way you one direction blares oh you must be old too i mean the way you prehistoric music plays oh you must be a jesus freak i mean the way your gospel music is sung well does music really define you i mean i knew a person she was happy she was a tomboy she was young you knew her to be a christian yes but her music was a variety you'd think her crazy you'd call her music taste bi polar oh well you must hate all gay people i mean you go to church on sundays oh well you know t'v is in color right i mean the stuff you watch doesn't even have sound or words oh well you must be happy never thought about depression huh i mean your hair is blonde clothes are pink and you're head cheerleader oh well you must only own long sleeves and take anti depressants i mean you are always so quiet and never stand up for your self but that girl who goes to church she doesn't feel accepted at church because shes gay but that girl who watches black and white t.v. it was her moms favorite movie but that pretty blonde cheerleader her dads a drunk and beats her and her mom but that girl painted black shes really nice once you get to know her if only you knew her secret if only you knew her mother if only you lifted up her skirt and looked at her thighs if only you got to know her never let a persons music or look describe them why don't you go try to talk to them
0
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC
bethany-cotton
Stereotypes
oh you must be emo i mean the way your music screams and screeches oh you must be a preppy little ***** i mean the way you one direction blares oh you must be old too i mean the way you prehistoric music plays oh you must be a jesus freak i mean the way your gospel music is sung well does music really define you i mean i knew a person she was happy she was a tomboy she was young you knew her to be a christian yes but her music was a variety you'd think her crazy you'd call her music taste bi polar oh well you must hate all gay people i mean you go to church on sundays oh well you know t'v is in color right i mean the stuff you watch doesn't even have sound or words oh well you must be happy never thought about depression huh i mean your hair is blonde clothes are pink and you're head cheerleader oh well you must only own long sleeves and take anti depressants i mean you are always so quiet and never stand up for your self but that girl who goes to church she doesn't feel accepted at church because shes gay but that girl who watches black and white t.v. it was her moms favorite movie but that pretty blonde cheerleader her dads a drunk and beats her and her mom but that girl painted black shes really nice once you get to know her if only you knew her secret if only you knew her mother if only you lifted up her skirt and looked at her thighs if only you got to know her never let a persons music or look describe them why don't you go try to talk to them
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39
You love to get the words out of me The words I wouldn’t use, they sound ***** You love the way I look at you I look into your eyes, and something sets free You love the way I listen to you I remember everything, Mr. Perfect doesn’t We both love crushing I crush on you And you crush me You call me your tomboy And get so possessive You say that you need me And then act submissive I adjust your dresses Sometimes your shoe laces When you keep me waiting I say you are allowed Don’t call me bro Babe, what is the ground We both love crushing I crush on you And you crush me You say you love me Every time you text I say, “I love you” You shoot hearts and rainbows back You want to know about my crushes If I ever loved a girl You wink and dance with me Say I’m the only one to make you twirl We both love crushing I crush on you And you crush me You love when I play gentleman Opening the door Letting you lead Walking you back Paying you heed You gush about my skills The way I move the swords The way I calculate The way I play with words Close discussions and debates And then we discuss How Mr. Perfect and you are hanging We both love crushing I crush on you And you crush me We are best friends And you want us to be, forever You want to hang out And go abroad together I would stand by you In all platonic capacities Even when Mr. Perfect marries you And claims you stupidly We both love crushing I crush on you And you crush me
0
May 25, 2020
May 25, 2020 at 11:39 PM UTC
divya-kaushik
Crushing
You love to get the words out of me The words I wouldn’t use, they sound ***** You love the way I look at you I look into your eyes, and something sets free You love the way I listen to you I remember everything, Mr. Perfect doesn’t We both love crushing I crush on you And you crush me You call me your tomboy And get so possessive You say that you need me And then act submissive I adjust your dresses Sometimes your shoe laces When you keep me waiting I say you are allowed Don’t call me bro Babe, what is the ground We both love crushing I crush on you And you crush me You say you love me Every time you text I say, “I love you” You shoot hearts and rainbows back You want to know about my crushes If I ever loved a girl You wink and dance with me Say I’m the only one to make you twirl We both love crushing I crush on you And you crush me You love when I play gentleman Opening the door Letting you lead Walking you back Paying you heed You gush about my skills The way I move the swords The way I calculate The way I play with words Close discussions and debates And then we discuss How Mr. Perfect and you are hanging We both love crushing I crush on you And you crush me We are best friends And you want us to be, forever You want to hang out And go abroad together I would stand by you In all platonic capacities Even when Mr. Perfect marries you And claims you stupidly We both love crushing I crush on you And you crush me
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59
I never knew here to be one who would accept my roses Or even one to exchange kisses like Eskimos, rubbing noses But I could tell you it was her smile that gave her away Even amidst the mud on her cheeks she gained throughout the day She was never one for dresses, no, her jeans fitted just fine Her figure flattering, though her clothes modest, humble in her design And she would sooner throw a punch than look for rescuing Yet she showed her princessly ways every time she'd sing She would rather raise a mug than a cup of tea And romp around, laughing all the while, on the bed with me She'd giggle when I burped, and defeat me all the more Then lie with me to look at the ceiling from her bedroom floor But when she cried... oh when she cried... there crying she would be And you would see no figure that was all the more dainty No words said as she'd bury her face deep into my chest Strong is she, all to me, in sorrow or happiness
0
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 1:28 PM UTC
nik-bland
TomBoy
I never knew here to be one who would accept my roses Or even one to exchange kisses like Eskimos, rubbing noses But I could tell you it was her smile that gave her away Even amidst the mud on her cheeks she gained throughout the day She was never one for dresses, no, her jeans fitted just fine Her figure flattering, though her clothes modest, humble in her design And she would sooner throw a punch than look for rescuing Yet she showed her princessly ways every time she'd sing She would rather raise a mug than a cup of tea And romp around, laughing all the while, on the bed with me She'd giggle when I burped, and defeat me all the more Then lie with me to look at the ceiling from her bedroom floor But when she cried... oh when she cried... there crying she would be And you would see no figure that was all the more dainty No words said as she'd bury her face deep into my chest Strong is she, all to me, in sorrow or happiness
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16
Why cant I be someone i want to be? Why can't I have the body I was meant to have? All I want is someone to look at me and able to see me Jayce not Kylie Boy not girl My life has been ****** up since birth But to the rest of the world Kylie is just a tomboy or something else Why cant I just be me and not get yelled at or made fun of? Why does some of the world pick favorites? Get over it the world doesn't only consist of cis straight men/female We arent that much different just something that makes us unique.
0
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC
Jayceishaunted
Why?
Why cant I be someone i want to be? Why can't I have the body I was meant to have? All I want is someone to look at me and able to see me Jayce not Kylie Boy not girl My life has been ****** up since birth But to the rest of the world Kylie is just a tomboy or something else Why cant I just be me and not get yelled at or made fun of? Why does some of the world pick favorites? Get over it the world doesn't only consist of cis straight men/female We arent that much different just something that makes us unique.
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11
She's lace and confetti With stars in her twinkles A bright morning sunlight Where smiling nose wrinkles Perpetually moving A bird and a flower Now growing, now stretching With all of her power A tomboy, a lady Whom nobody heckles Until someone mentions Those cute little freckles She lives in her world The star playing softball At times sharing secrets With kitty and her doll But few in this world Can know her so well As I, sworn to secret By her radiant spell She's sometimes the thief Just playing her part Unknowing, each day She steals in my heart So one day tomorrow Like roses, will bloom With joy and with sorrow Will leave with her groom But come that tomorrow Whenever it may Forever in my heart Forever she'll stay. J. Sandy
0
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 11:57 AM UTC
john-a-alsoszatai-petheo
A Father's Reflection
She's lace and confetti With stars in her twinkles A bright morning sunlight Where smiling nose wrinkles Perpetually moving A bird and a flower Now growing, now stretching With all of her power A tomboy, a lady Whom nobody heckles Until someone mentions Those cute little freckles She lives in her world The star playing softball At times sharing secrets With kitty and her doll But few in this world Can know her so well As I, sworn to secret By her radiant spell She's sometimes the thief Just playing her part Unknowing, each day She steals in my heart So one day tomorrow Like roses, will bloom With joy and with sorrow Will leave with her groom But come that tomorrow Whenever it may Forever in my heart Forever she'll stay. J. Sandy
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33
Dearest Reader, My name is Margot Dylan, and I'm a pariah. On the 16th of April, I told my mother that I was gay. She threw the clay mug that I made for her before she found out I was gay, against the floral, peeling wallpaper mess of a wall, in our kitchen. The decaffeinated peppermint green tea left a wonderful aroma that almost cleansed the room of the stench of 'lesbian'. I met Dylan Dunham a few days after that, and, a few days later, she was the first girl that I ever loved. Dylan wore a red flannel jacket, and was a butch and sometimes a bitch-but I loved her even at her tomboy cruelest. Dylan smoked a cigarette that smelled like lonerism, and she looked at me like she didn't care. My heart skipped a beat, as cliche as it sounds, whenever she would remove the cigarette from her mouth, exhale, and look at me as smoke traveled up her face. I looked at her and knew that she was everything that I wasn't, and everything that I wanted. Dylan was Dianne, before and after school. Dylan was Dianne, who wore floral dresses and lipstick and who ditched her butch clothing in her locker before leaving. Dylan was Dianne, who was straight and who thought Tyler Wesson, from church, was cute. Dylan was Dianne, who had a short hair cut because of track and field, because she explained that she ran a faster time with less hair. Dylan was Dianne, who didn't associate with me before or after school because her parents knew that I was gay. During school hours, the only thing Dylan did keep from Dianne was the lipstick. I was envious of the cigarette because of it's burgundy stains. We would stand in a stall, as she looked across from me, after each drag. She frequently offered her cigarettes, but I refused because I only let love **** me. If she ever brought alcohol, sometimes she'd kiss me. I told her that I loved her and she said, "I know." The only thing that Dylan kept from me was my heart, before she started to smoke cigarettes in the bathroom with Annie Way. I wish you the best moments so they can overcome the worst, Margot Dylan
0
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
MargotDylan
July 31st, 2014
Dearest Reader, My name is Margot Dylan, and I'm a pariah. On the 16th of April, I told my mother that I was gay. She threw the clay mug that I made for her before she found out I was gay, against the floral, peeling wallpaper mess of a wall, in our kitchen. The decaffeinated peppermint green tea left a wonderful aroma that almost cleansed the room of the stench of 'lesbian'. I met Dylan Dunham a few days after that, and, a few days later, she was the first girl that I ever loved. Dylan wore a red flannel jacket, and was a butch and sometimes a bitch-but I loved her even at her tomboy cruelest. Dylan smoked a cigarette that smelled like lonerism, and she looked at me like she didn't care. My heart skipped a beat, as cliche as it sounds, whenever she would remove the cigarette from her mouth, exhale, and look at me as smoke traveled up her face. I looked at her and knew that she was everything that I wasn't, and everything that I wanted. Dylan was Dianne, before and after school. Dylan was Dianne, who wore floral dresses and lipstick and who ditched her butch clothing in her locker before leaving. Dylan was Dianne, who was straight and who thought Tyler Wesson, from church, was cute. Dylan was Dianne, who had a short hair cut because of track and field, because she explained that she ran a faster time with less hair. Dylan was Dianne, who didn't associate with me before or after school because her parents knew that I was gay. During school hours, the only thing Dylan did keep from Dianne was the lipstick. I was envious of the cigarette because of it's burgundy stains. We would stand in a stall, as she looked across from me, after each drag. She frequently offered her cigarettes, but I refused because I only let love **** me. If she ever brought alcohol, sometimes she'd kiss me. I told her that I loved her and she said, "I know." The only thing that Dylan kept from me was my heart, before she started to smoke cigarettes in the bathroom with Annie Way. I wish you the best moments so they can overcome the worst, Margot Dylan
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11
If I were a book, what would my cover lead you to believe? Colorful knee socks - a bit quirky. Nose ring - acquired during a brief rebellious phase. Purple hair - craving attention. Lack of eye contact - lacking self confidence, socially awkward. Chipped nail polish - not quite a girly-girl or a tomboy Combat boots - attempting to seem edgy. Maybe your assumptions are right. But you'll never know until you read the book.
0
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
circa-1994
page turner
If I were a book, what would my cover lead you to believe? Colorful knee socks - a bit quirky. Nose ring - acquired during a brief rebellious phase. Purple hair - craving attention. Lack of eye contact - lacking self confidence, socially awkward. Chipped nail polish - not quite a girly-girl or a tomboy Combat boots - attempting to seem edgy. Maybe your assumptions are right. But you'll never know until you read the book.
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10
I love all of  my family As I always have since birth Problem is my family has And may always see me as a Girl My mom remembers fondly How I used to love dressing up in pink But now it seems to bother me, Like my voice, when I think and speak I’ve always been a tomBoy In very single fond memory I’ve hated being Sister, Small, a Girl, or Mallory Why can’t it leave Me be So please, I’m not your Daughter, not one of your Ladies, Sis or Girlfriend I’m not trying to **** your loved one Just trying to help you recognize Him
0
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 11:30 AM UTC
WordsFewFarInBetween
tomBoy
I love all of  my family As I always have since birth Problem is my family has And may always see me as a Girl My mom remembers fondly How I used to love dressing up in pink But now it seems to bother me, Like my voice, when I think and speak I’ve always been a tomBoy In very single fond memory I’ve hated being Sister, Small, a Girl, or Mallory Why can’t it leave Me be So please, I’m not your Daughter, not one of your Ladies, Sis or Girlfriend I’m not trying to **** your loved one Just trying to help you recognize Him
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15
I remember the first time that I was called pretty. I was eight years old. I remember feeling a bubble of insecurity hover around me, like an ant under a microscope. At eight years old, I had experienced my very first wave of expectations of women in a male dominated society. I had no idea that would be the first of many by the time I reached womanhood. I was just a child. I loved playing in the dirt, and capturing bull frogs. I was a girl who played like a boy. I never thought I was pretty, not because I had low self esteem, but because I was eight years old. I was to young to have pretty wrapped up in my identity. Fast forward eight more years. I am sixteen now. I am no longer playing in the dirt, or capturing bull frogs. I am painting my nails bright pink, and dying my hair every two weeks. I am trying to be pretty. I am no longer feeling the bubble of insecurity. I am living in it twenty four seven. I am always concerned with how I look, how I act, and what I say. I am a girl who is no longer a tomboy. I am just a girl. I no longer know who I am, because I am not allowed to be who I am. I am expected to sit quietly in the corner, straightening my hair, perfecting my makeup, so that a boy who loves my body can tell me he loves me, and make me his wife. Fast forward 4 more years. I am twenty now. I am numb to the insecurity. I am now expected to live in a suburb, raise three kids, clean the house, love my husband, and my white picket fence. I am just another girl who is seen as pretty. I am living a lifeless life. I am at a crossroads to either stay down under the weight of societies expectations, or burn my picket fence right down to the ground. I am remembering that tomboy I was before I was called pretty. I can either reconnect with her fierceness, or hide beyond a mask of beige concealer. I can either be a dove, or I can be a phoenix. I think the choice is obvious.
0
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 2:38 AM UTC
haeneh
Tomboy
I remember the first time that I was called pretty. I was eight years old. I remember feeling a bubble of insecurity hover around me, like an ant under a microscope. At eight years old, I had experienced my very first wave of expectations of women in a male dominated society. I had no idea that would be the first of many by the time I reached womanhood. I was just a child. I loved playing in the dirt, and capturing bull frogs. I was a girl who played like a boy. I never thought I was pretty, not because I had low self esteem, but because I was eight years old. I was to young to have pretty wrapped up in my identity. Fast forward eight more years. I am sixteen now. I am no longer playing in the dirt, or capturing bull frogs. I am painting my nails bright pink, and dying my hair every two weeks. I am trying to be pretty. I am no longer feeling the bubble of insecurity. I am living in it twenty four seven. I am always concerned with how I look, how I act, and what I say. I am a girl who is no longer a tomboy. I am just a girl. I no longer know who I am, because I am not allowed to be who I am. I am expected to sit quietly in the corner, straightening my hair, perfecting my makeup, so that a boy who loves my body can tell me he loves me, and make me his wife. Fast forward 4 more years. I am twenty now. I am numb to the insecurity. I am now expected to live in a suburb, raise three kids, clean the house, love my husband, and my white picket fence. I am just another girl who is seen as pretty. I am living a lifeless life. I am at a crossroads to either stay down under the weight of societies expectations, or burn my picket fence right down to the ground. I am remembering that tomboy I was before I was called pretty. I can either reconnect with her fierceness, or hide beyond a mask of beige concealer. I can either be a dove, or I can be a phoenix. I think the choice is obvious.
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97
Were you a tomboy, the girl who played football at recess. The only one who didnt run when a mouse died inside the yellow pudding. Jblm knows a girl. She sneaks into the motor Pool and wont pass up taking tanks for joy rides. Or forget about ratting out who has the hugest mangina down inside the unicorn. He walks by pulling up His pants while a drip of ***** martinie clencses the uneven stony floor. Her fingers move faster then whips when she steals a cigarett from his soft young lips.
0
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 12:07 AM UTC
michael-parish
were you a tomboy?
Were you a tomboy, the girl who played football at recess. The only one who didnt run when a mouse died inside the yellow pudding. Jblm knows a girl. She sneaks into the motor Pool and wont pass up taking tanks for joy rides. Or forget about ratting out who has the hugest mangina down inside the unicorn. He walks by pulling up His pants while a drip of ***** martinie clencses the uneven stony floor. Her fingers move faster then whips when she steals a cigarett from his soft young lips.
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21
Drawstring linen pants, Unisex from a women's catalogue. Dark green shirt, tomboy approved. Enough makeup to hide my faults. Pink heart earrings, and a silver cross in the 3rd hole. A silver cross, trans emblem and a silver heart engraved Laura, my true identity, together on a black bead chain. Silver Lesbian insignia ring with my wedding band on top. A black 1st finger ring etched with the Lord's prayer. 2 bracelets, one orange one turquoise to match a turquoise hat and dark glasses. A couple of mists of Acqua di Gioia. Women's turquoise/orange runners, And a Victoria's secret backpack. I didn't really think about the details until evening, All I knew is I felt comfortable today. I even went to Kohl's department store alone and browsed, and felt a confidence I'd rarely felt in the past. Is this how some people feel every day I wonder? I was so grateful for just today, just one day. Today I was me by Lj Mark 2015
0
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 12:54 AM UTC
ljmark
Today i was me
Drawstring linen pants, Unisex from a women's catalogue. Dark green shirt, tomboy approved. Enough makeup to hide my faults. Pink heart earrings, and a silver cross in the 3rd hole. A silver cross, trans emblem and a silver heart engraved Laura, my true identity, together on a black bead chain. Silver Lesbian insignia ring with my wedding band on top. A black 1st finger ring etched with the Lord's prayer. 2 bracelets, one orange one turquoise to match a turquoise hat and dark glasses. A couple of mists of Acqua di Gioia. Women's turquoise/orange runners, And a Victoria's secret backpack. I didn't really think about the details until evening, All I knew is I felt comfortable today. I even went to Kohl's department store alone and browsed, and felt a confidence I'd rarely felt in the past. Is this how some people feel every day I wonder? I was so grateful for just today, just one day. Today I was me by Lj Mark 2015
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19
i am my mothers child. my mothers hands that held me, that i never wanted, are my own. "we have been cursed with beauty," she said. i always remembered that. and how fragile, how bony her hands were. her resolve to use them, how it amazed me. working in the garden tirelessly, i knew how they ached. our eyes are the same, jade. the big slanted kind, like a cat, someone told me once. my lips are bigger than hers, my ******* too. I remember her being so bothered, "that's not supposed to happen, you must have got your ***** from your dad!" my dad. i was always a daddy's girl, a tomboy, especially when i was young. i retained some traits from my father. he is a good man. but the things i learned best from him, i wish i had not. i learned to lie, how to spend money where it was not needed, and perhaps, how to be lonely. i am my mother's child.
0
Jul 21, 2011
Jul 21, 2011 at 9:18 AM UTC
meg-freeman
i am my mother's child.
i am my mothers child. my mothers hands that held me, that i never wanted, are my own. "we have been cursed with beauty," she said. i always remembered that. and how fragile, how bony her hands were. her resolve to use them, how it amazed me. working in the garden tirelessly, i knew how they ached. our eyes are the same, jade. the big slanted kind, like a cat, someone told me once. my lips are bigger than hers, my ******* too. I remember her being so bothered, "that's not supposed to happen, you must have got your ***** from your dad!" my dad. i was always a daddy's girl, a tomboy, especially when i was young. i retained some traits from my father. he is a good man. but the things i learned best from him, i wish i had not. i learned to lie, how to spend money where it was not needed, and perhaps, how to be lonely. i am my mother's child.
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31
I'm not the type of girl Who flirts to get out of things Who fawns all over you. I'm not the girl To get dressed up And put on a mask of makeup. I'm not the one Who wears her heart on her sleeve Or pours her emotions out for all to see. I'm not the girly girl Into the latest fashion Or the new trends. I'm not the one To get all pretty just for you. I'm the girl Who plays tough. Dirt and grime never bothered me. I'm the one To play with the guys In sports and games. I'll beat you in your favorite video game As we eat the fattiest foods. I'm the tomboy Who loves to just be comfortable. I bottle up my emotions Hiding from them behind a wall. My exterior is just a facade Of strength and toughness Held up by sheer will. I'm not going to change. I love me for me But I hope that you can see Past the mask that covers my interior. The passion that hides behind the fence Waiting to be found. The romantic who needs a push, A sign to know it's real. A nudge in the right direction Is all you need to give. Showing me you care And telling me are two different things. I'm not the girl who reads up on relationships Trying to decipher the meaning Behind every word, Every movement, Every little thing. Instead, I'm the one to take it at face value. Don't play games with me Just make it clear as day. Are you here to stay? Or are you here to play? If you're here to stay Then just let me know. I can't stand these mixed signals Hovering between just friends And something more. If you're here to play Then I need to know. I don't like these games Of cat and mouse. I can't stand the doubt Which plagues my mind. To me you're more than just a friend. We've been dancing for 6 months Between the two stages. Each time I think I know what's going on Something you do turns me around. This dance is getting old And I'm getting scared. The more time we spend together The more attached I grow. But I'm afraid that I have no right to you, Because you seem to keep changing your mind. I'm not a girly girl I'm not the one to open up easily. But you're growing on me And I feel a desire to tell you everything. But I'm afraid that you'll leave, Just like everyone else had. I've been through too much To wear my heart on my sleeve. I've grown tough even as I hide. My emotions squeezed and confined Want to burst forth when you're around. I don't know how to tell you this Maybe I should let you read instead All my words and poems.
0
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
dev-a
This is Who I Am
I'm not the type of girl Who flirts to get out of things Who fawns all over you. I'm not the girl To get dressed up And put on a mask of makeup. I'm not the one Who wears her heart on her sleeve Or pours her emotions out for all to see. I'm not the girly girl Into the latest fashion Or the new trends. I'm not the one To get all pretty just for you. I'm the girl Who plays tough. Dirt and grime never bothered me. I'm the one To play with the guys In sports and games. I'll beat you in your favorite video game As we eat the fattiest foods. I'm the tomboy Who loves to just be comfortable. I bottle up my emotions Hiding from them behind a wall. My exterior is just a facade Of strength and toughness Held up by sheer will. I'm not going to change. I love me for me But I hope that you can see Past the mask that covers my interior. The passion that hides behind the fence Waiting to be found. The romantic who needs a push, A sign to know it's real. A nudge in the right direction Is all you need to give. Showing me you care And telling me are two different things. I'm not the girl who reads up on relationships Trying to decipher the meaning Behind every word, Every movement, Every little thing. Instead, I'm the one to take it at face value. Don't play games with me Just make it clear as day. Are you here to stay? Or are you here to play? If you're here to stay Then just let me know. I can't stand these mixed signals Hovering between just friends And something more. If you're here to play Then I need to know. I don't like these games Of cat and mouse. I can't stand the doubt Which plagues my mind. To me you're more than just a friend. We've been dancing for 6 months Between the two stages. Each time I think I know what's going on Something you do turns me around. This dance is getting old And I'm getting scared. The more time we spend together The more attached I grow. But I'm afraid that I have no right to you, Because you seem to keep changing your mind. I'm not a girly girl I'm not the one to open up easily. But you're growing on me And I feel a desire to tell you everything. But I'm afraid that you'll leave, Just like everyone else had. I've been through too much To wear my heart on my sleeve. I've grown tough even as I hide. My emotions squeezed and confined Want to burst forth when you're around. I don't know how to tell you this Maybe I should let you read instead All my words and poems.
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87
With Easter approaching it made me think of a little girl I used to babysit Her father was one of the Russian hockey players here in Detroit I'm not really sure of what they believed about God but they didn't attend church at that time. While her father was away, playing hockey in Germany due to a lock out in the NHL and her mother was out of town, I found myself alone with her on Easter weekend. I knew I wanted to attend services, so just before bed one night I approached the subject of God with her. She was young, probably 7 or 8 at the time, so initially she was afraid. I think she said something like if God came to her front door she would get her Dad & he wouldn't let him in. Her Dad was a fairly robust defensemen, so God would surely no better than to mess with him lol. I went on to explain as best as I could that God was her friend. Of course we also discussed how we can't see him and what Heaven is, and who knows what really went through that pretty little head of hers, but she did listen intently. We went to church, I was able to even get her in a dress, a true miracle in itself as she was quite the tomboy back then, She didn't say a great deal, and no doubt at such a young age she had little if any real understanding, But now she is a young woman, a believer in Christ, living an amazing life, an encourager, strong like her father, and I can't help but hope a little that those tiny seeds I planted so many years ago may have helped shape her into the person she is today. A few years back she shared with me on facebook a little poem I had given her before they moved out of state. The poem was worn & tattered but to know that she had held onto it after some 15 years is one of the greatest gifts she could have ever given me. I may never have children of my own, Not always an easy thing to accept, But I do thank God for the time I was given in helping to raise such a beautiful girl.
0
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 3:54 PM UTC
zhivagos-muse
A poem, worn & tattered
With Easter approaching it made me think of a little girl I used to babysit Her father was one of the Russian hockey players here in Detroit I'm not really sure of what they believed about God but they didn't attend church at that time. While her father was away, playing hockey in Germany due to a lock out in the NHL and her mother was out of town, I found myself alone with her on Easter weekend. I knew I wanted to attend services, so just before bed one night I approached the subject of God with her. She was young, probably 7 or 8 at the time, so initially she was afraid. I think she said something like if God came to her front door she would get her Dad & he wouldn't let him in. Her Dad was a fairly robust defensemen, so God would surely no better than to mess with him lol. I went on to explain as best as I could that God was her friend. Of course we also discussed how we can't see him and what Heaven is, and who knows what really went through that pretty little head of hers, but she did listen intently. We went to church, I was able to even get her in a dress, a true miracle in itself as she was quite the tomboy back then, She didn't say a great deal, and no doubt at such a young age she had little if any real understanding, But now she is a young woman, a believer in Christ, living an amazing life, an encourager, strong like her father, and I can't help but hope a little that those tiny seeds I planted so many years ago may have helped shape her into the person she is today. A few years back she shared with me on facebook a little poem I had given her before they moved out of state. The poem was worn & tattered but to know that she had held onto it after some 15 years is one of the greatest gifts she could have ever given me. I may never have children of my own, Not always an easy thing to accept, But I do thank God for the time I was given in helping to raise such a beautiful girl.
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41
Look outside the window Everything we've said and done Is withering in the sun I wish I had you Nobody but you Your like forbidden fruit From Adam and Eves tree Tuning me into something more But only you could see I may be a tomboy A gamer A believer A learner And more to be shaped I stay true to my word Just like love or fate
0
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 10:22 PM UTC
Apparicious
What I Am With You
Look outside the window Everything we've said and done Is withering in the sun I wish I had you Nobody but you Your like forbidden fruit From Adam and Eves tree Tuning me into something more But only you could see I may be a tomboy A gamer A believer A learner And more to be shaped I stay true to my word Just like love or fate
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16
-arriving at eglington west station- there's the fragrance drifting off of her shoulders as she checks her reflection on smartphone mirror app, floral pattern matching the bright of her nails, the sun shining onto sequined flats that show no wear. -glencairn, glencairn station- there's her youth indicated by backpack, baseball cap, and conversation subject matter discussing video game system merit, there's the hand me down excitement of muddy knees and torn jeans, -arriving at lawrence west station- each millimetre contributing to grimace, beard whisker, wrinkle stationed to the sides of each of his eyes, weary traveller, seemingly ignoring everyone with grocery bag occupying chair like child, -Yorkdale, Yorkdale station- we used to weave through these crowds and people watch together, and the people would watch us, young love, so simple, oblivious to stage, fingers interlocked, blocking crowds from passing by, there was the taste of strawberry banana smoothie, freshly squeezed, on your lips, we'd race up escalators, only to circle back down, we'd find the nook of book store, to steal a moment, you'd ignite, ignoring the clatter of barrista, starbucks adjacent, and there would walk by or sit dolled up princess, adolescent tomboy, aging cantankerous senior, these faces haven't changed as much as ours have. -please stand clear of the doors-
0
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 1:12 AM UTC
shawn
subways
-arriving at eglington west station- there's the fragrance drifting off of her shoulders as she checks her reflection on smartphone mirror app, floral pattern matching the bright of her nails, the sun shining onto sequined flats that show no wear. -glencairn, glencairn station- there's her youth indicated by backpack, baseball cap, and conversation subject matter discussing video game system merit, there's the hand me down excitement of muddy knees and torn jeans, -arriving at lawrence west station- each millimetre contributing to grimace, beard whisker, wrinkle stationed to the sides of each of his eyes, weary traveller, seemingly ignoring everyone with grocery bag occupying chair like child, -Yorkdale, Yorkdale station- we used to weave through these crowds and people watch together, and the people would watch us, young love, so simple, oblivious to stage, fingers interlocked, blocking crowds from passing by, there was the taste of strawberry banana smoothie, freshly squeezed, on your lips, we'd race up escalators, only to circle back down, we'd find the nook of book store, to steal a moment, you'd ignite, ignoring the clatter of barrista, starbucks adjacent, and there would walk by or sit dolled up princess, adolescent tomboy, aging cantankerous senior, these faces haven't changed as much as ours have. -please stand clear of the doors-
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46
When I was a small child I was no lady fair and mild I was the princess of the wild As by tree climbing I was beguiled I didn't like pink princess sets Sports were something I couldn't get I climbed everywhere, even playgrounds that were wet And I loved proving kids wrong on a bet As I grew into the girl I became Some things changed, some stayed the same I love all sorts of clothes, made for both gents and dames And my boyish reaction to crushes is still my bane
0
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 1:16 PM UTC
breeze-mist
Tomboy Reminders
When I was a small child I was no lady fair and mild I was the princess of the wild As by tree climbing I was beguiled I didn't like pink princess sets Sports were something I couldn't get I climbed everywhere, even playgrounds that were wet And I loved proving kids wrong on a bet As I grew into the girl I became Some things changed, some stayed the same I love all sorts of clothes, made for both gents and dames And my boyish reaction to crushes is still my bane
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12
Listening to Mr. Noah, you were like a child at play-time. Lost in euphoria you never needed to explain. I saw a lady today, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a love that wasn't ****** nor familial, I learned a bit of friendship, and was reminded of how much giving meant when there was no obligation. It's easy to not to worry when you don't feel the need to understand. Listening carefully to his voice exclaiming, against funny beautiful instruments, he is like a child at play-time, worry-free, until the music stops. Calmness that can be sadness when it ends. When will you return to the cottage in my heart, little child? You play with what you mean to love, feel sad when it's broken from a lack of care. But you don't need to understand, so you smile when the music starts up again. You were like a little child.
0
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 12:49 AM UTC
tntcl
Pause: Tomboy
Listening to Mr. Noah, you were like a child at play-time. Lost in euphoria you never needed to explain. I saw a lady today, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a love that wasn't ****** nor familial, I learned a bit of friendship, and was reminded of how much giving meant when there was no obligation. It's easy to not to worry when you don't feel the need to understand. Listening carefully to his voice exclaiming, against funny beautiful instruments, he is like a child at play-time, worry-free, until the music stops. Calmness that can be sadness when it ends. When will you return to the cottage in my heart, little child? You play with what you mean to love, feel sad when it's broken from a lack of care. But you don't need to understand, so you smile when the music starts up again. You were like a little child.
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23