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Hateful Heart

By : February 7, 2021 Comments Off
Some people love with hatred in their hearts. When we associate passion with fire, we forget that all flames burn. Pull your fingertips away quickly, but they’re already singed. Yes, she smiled with all her teeth, like a child. But I think she’s lived a thousand lives. And she’s spent every one with her heart turning more twisted. Her eyes glisten like an innocent, but she loves to make you as damned as her. She’ll laugh at you for praying, turn your mother against you, and drop your favorite Christmas ball. She won’t even try to pick up the shattered shards. Because that would risk cutting her fingertips. And she is so fragile to you. So you gather the shards yourself and find the pale blue ornament is nothing but
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Seven Days

By : February 3, 2021 01 Comment
Monday came around and you were still gone Tuesday’s here, I don’t think that I can carry on It’s the middle of the week, so it’s almost over But once Thursday comes, I’ll lose my composure It’s finally Friday, much like any other day Saturday hits, your mark won’t fade away It’s now Sunday and the cycle continues I’m empty With memories to write about All to try to make myself forgive you.
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Proof-Reading Love

By : January 23, 2021 Comments Off
“Why are there always so many spelling mistakes in those long quotes about love?” she asks, her nose scrunching up. “I guess it’s hard to type when you’re in love,” I say, and look up from my book into her dark eyes. I want to add that it’s hard to breathe when you’re in love. And hard to walk in a straight line and hard to have just one drink when you’re alone and in love. Because every time I’ve been in love I’ve been alone. “But proof-reading is really important,” she says, squirming in the mint green armchair by the window. “Maybe it’s better not to proof-read love,” I say, and she rolls her eyes. “You poets always say stuff like that.”  She’s right. But what matters more is
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Airport Pick-Up

By : January 14, 2021 Comments Off
I’m exhausted. Traveling for work can be fun, but really… it’s just long hours and shitty sleep. My return flight is landing and I can already smell my lady’s perfume. I miss her. My body misses her. The goal is to get off this plane and into her arms as quickly as possible. I keep this in mind when packing, so I always pack light, even for this two-week trip. I wrap up all the cords and miscellaneous stuff I tend to accumulate on trips. The seatbelt sign goes off and my ache for her grows just a bit. I stay seated and touch up my lipstick, and smooth my wild curls into some sort of shape while my fellow passengers jostle for position. They file past me, I collect
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Autumn

By : January 9, 2021 Comments Off
I met her when her hair was dyed red. She wore a long brown coat and a black scarf. She was autumn in a person, and yet I wondered why she chilled me to my bones. Her kiss was soft but burnt. She tasted like ashes and danced like a blooming phoenix. I still remember her firestorm on the dance floor, and yet I wondered why I still find sparks on the back of my tongue at night. She wouldn’t have known love even if it pleaded with her as much as I did. She told me she dreamed of escape. Escaping her mother. Escaping her boyfriend. Escaping the natural brown of her hair and escaping the way the season in her head wouldn’t change. And yet I wondered why
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Poems to Heal from Queer Trauma

By : January 8, 2021 Comments Off
After coming out and leaving behind a terrible past of five years in electroshock, ex-gay therapy, I found a cathartic release in writing. I wrote my way through any time I had flashbacks of my traumatic experiences with the homophobia we know comes with religion. A few years into my writing journey I had processed the deepest of my pain, from my rage at the bible college who tortured me and then kicked me out and abandoned me, to the sorrow and deep hatred I had for not being good enough. The writing that I poured out saved me.I compiled my writing into a collection of poetry, Dear God I’m a Faggot (2019), and for every copy sold, I have donated 1$ to The Trevor Project, the 24/7 suicide lifeline
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