Queer Poetry - Blog Posts

God,

Let me marry my wife

Let me make a home

where all the ghosts of the kids I grew up with can feel safe.

Let me show my future children

that their differences are beautiful.

Let me live long enough

to have younger queer kids view me as a sign that they can prevail,

that things get better.

God,

Let things get better.

I fell for you gently as leaves do on a dreary autumn evening.

You continued to bloom delicately as you were the sweetest child of spring.

Unnoticed for years, my world has been touched by you.

In running away from home, I found a home in you.

I fell for you, like hades fell for persephone

And I am falling, like moon falls around the earth still.

I write this with my love, hoping that you might see this too.

I share this with the world, but really it only ever was for you.

You were scared to ruin me

I assured you that you wouldn't

The unsaid truth was this:

I was already ruined

Long before I met you

Long before I knew how to love

And even before you became my home

.

But you left and it felt like death

Everyone said I'd get used to it

The cruel desire was this:

I don't want to get used to you

I don't want time to heal me

I always want you to be

An unbearable ache that kills me

.

My mind is being held hostage by you

And even in grief you feel like home

The maddening question is this:

Will you love the monster in me?

Will you love me at the end of the world?

Will you simply just love me?

Dear universe

At 13 I thought that the universe hates me. For it made me tainted and it made me unlovable. Perhaps it was true; or perhaps I was just 13. Now I finally see that there are things that actually love me.

The darkness holds me still and grief kisses my hand. The demons in my head tell me it'll be fine. And hunger kind of always stays along with this unbearable ache. Longing lingers like a lonely child and sinister thoughts eat me up inside. Years of misery and wishing to be dead. Screams of terror and weeps of fate. But dear universe I wont complain. For dear universe I still am loved.

Pic via pinterest

To simply exist in all her devotion.

Tw: self harm, self loathing

A girl lies on her bedroom floor.

She bleeds through her eyes and cries through her veins.

I watch her helplessly and let her fall apart.

Everyday she fights long lost battles and dies gruesome deaths.

Her life is nothing but a grave full of dead hopes.

I watch her and do nothing.

Perhaps because there isn't much left of her to be saved.

She is covered in bruises I don't recognize her anymore.

I watch her with curiosity.

Her eyes dark and cold like the night itself, she reeks of misery.

A home full of ghosts, none of them remotedly as dead as her soul.

I watch her mercilessly.

After all that's what monsters like her deserve.

I say, and I stop watching her.

No part of her deserves to be loved.

I say, and I step away from the mirror.

Future love

Perhaps one day you'll hold me, once and forever.

Intoxicated we will be, lost in each other.

And then in the dark, you will touch the right parts of me.

In hushed tones I will show you, that you and I were meant to be.

Then slowly I will learn, how to truly love me.

And gently I will heal, like all my grief ceased to exist.

Thorn to my rose

Pic via pinterest

In a room full of strangers, our eyes met in secrecy.

With that striking smile of yours, you simply just ended me.

Gently whispered words killed me more than any poison could.

Loved you way too fondly than any lover ever should.

In frightened voice and shaky hands, I was scared to lose you.

In granted lives and afterlife, I was never meant to have you.

What is life anymore, if not just the absence of you?

Had to watch you bleed to death, what is even left to lose?

Once again in life I am terrified to let you close.

You were my known ruin. A lethal thorn, my gentle rose.

What a subtle form of self harm it is to love you.

Such a gruesome death to die.

What a comfort it is to be to be loved by you.

Such a torment it is to be not.

I want to kill myself just enough for you to visit. Atleast then I'll get to see you somewhere that's not just my dreams.

Pic via pinterest

You were like the sea

The delicate intimacy of you visiting my dreams. Only then I get to see you.

The sea, with all its hurricanes, all its storms. It reminds me of you.

Watching you fall in love and out of love. But never with me.

You were like the sea, with all its stillness. And all its peace.

My intense longing for you to stay. So hopeless yet so ardent.

Because just like the sea you were. Always changing yet so persistent.

Tw: self harm

Broken mosaic

Broken like a mosaic, this grief is beautiful.

Cold as a grave, this silence is peaceful.

A pain drenched tartarus was what made childhood.

A longing filled asphodel is what makes life cruel.

Sinister evil spirits, they whisper in the dark.

Cold harsh voice, it will shatter up your heart.

The silence kept saying with such delicacy.

But mind kept begging for sincere secrecy.

So close your little eyes, home is full of ghosts.

Hide your own self, it is terrifying to be known.

Shred your skin, once again you'll be filled with relief.

One last cut; an eternity of sleep.

Most of the famous love poems begin at the writer,

“Shall I compare thee to a summers day?” “How do I love thee, let me count the ways” “When I love you, I become Liquid light”

and the focus is on how the love affects the author.

You are not loved like that

You are loved from afar by a host of witnesses, partial observers who sing your praises and laud your name. I am merely one of many who’s life’s been changed by your black girl magic.

You are the flower and the sun, an entire ecosystem of beauty, pain, feral aggression, and nurturing softness trapped within skin and summarized with stardust.

You are the rot that consumes, dark slick fertility doing away with that which is dead and dying, prying life away from the undeserving.

You are an all-powerful inevitability, like mycorrhiza, interconnected and an engine of reincarnation turning that which you kill with your terrible, exquisite existence into vibrant life.

You are the power of a fire set spinning into a void, so intense that it attracts life and inspires art and who’s mere proximity is the Prometheus of existence.

You are an illustration of regeneration in motion.

You are not just a pretty girl, or a smart woman or a good person.

You are a vision of the universe manifesting itself to experience life and doing it with such style and grace that it takes my breath away.

And so, I will not disgrace you with talk of the love of possession.

the love of self, reflected in the face of the other.

the love only begat by desire

or need

or lust.

Instead, I will pray to you in the way that the moon prays to the sun.

I will describe the love of a devotee as they turn their face to the façade of their goddess and stand in awe of her power, majesty, and the ineffable certainty that they are unworthy.

I will set a record in stone of the magnificence of you.

I will, if given permission, promise to learn you

I will cleave my soul to yours leaving behind a love that endures and will never end, merely change forms

I will inscribe my adoration on the monolith of you, perfect, deific, angelic, demonic, human,  you

I will learn your habits, like how you take your morning coffee

I will create tender, intimate moments where I simply watch and wonder at the gift of you in my life

I will love you, with every burning, bared, imperfect part of my broken, bruised, and barely beating heart

The bird cries,

it sails through the skies as its flock demands,

and skims the seas bustling with life,

The bird flies,

it whisks past windows as whimsy commands,

and holds the suns hands,

when she reaches high up above all lands,

The bird stands,

it will lay with its feather,

when it finds the promised land it will rest forever,

The bird lands,

It understands,

It lays down in man-made sand,

The bird cries.

scissors

shaking hands

fallen hair

three inches, five, seven

i look in the mirror

a person looks back

not her

me

ocean

i told her she was the ocean

but she didnt understand what i meant

and i couldnt explain it without telling her

that i like her

she is beautiful and steady and consistant

waves crashing on the shore

i almost told her she was the moon

shining in the sky

i dont think she would've gotten that one either

the moon and the ocean and the night sky

and everything gorgeous and powerful

and always, always there

things you don't do for a girl you're "just friends" with:

walk her anywhere she wants to go, even when it's cold and wet outside and all you want is to be inside

be jealous when she brings up a boy you know she used to have a crush on (especially since you're pretty sure she's over him)

get butterflies whenever she moves her chair closer to yours

smile when you see her name on your phone (and refuse to remove the hearts you put on her contact when you had a crush on her, even though you're totally over it)

stay up way later than you meant to just to text her because as soon as you go to bed it's over

and you definitely, definitely dont want to kiss her. not the girl you're just friends with. not the girl you say you're over

not happening

i'm not going to let myself

have a new crush

not this soon

not on her

i'm not going to let myself

like a girl so painfully straight

and break my streak

of not liking girls who could never

like me

but what happens

when i catch myself thinking of her

or looking for her

or lighting up, briefly,

at her name on my phone

when she's creeping up on me

like the first sign of spring

six more weeks of winter

i can't go any more days without her

but i promised

no more girls

not right now

definitely not her

shut up, heart

romeo

"i don't even like her anymore" i say

"i'm completely, 100% over her"

but

sometimes

when i let myself glance at her

i understand how romeo felt

shouting at that balcony

She's sickenly sweet like honey with her crooked teeth, her breath smells like candy and her pretty stray eyelash, decorates her cheeks. She's a Venus fly trap. She's got stickers in her hair, glitter on her face and paint on her shoes. She gives her heart away like she has nothing to lose. She's the kind to make wishes on dandelions and to believe that when the stars align she can communicate with the divine in her dreams. We drove out to a field, laid under her "special tree" and watched the tall grass sway in the sunlight. It was something out of a movie. Do I want to be her or do I want to be with her? I couldn't pull it apart without leaving behind spider webs of her and I, traces of each other, like perfume clinging to a sweater I haven't worn in months. She's like a dream.

—Camille Lee, dream girl

Tits out, Life lived

I just want to exist with my tits out

I'm tired of having to hide my body. My feet, my shoulders, my stomach, and especially my tits.

Just because it turns someone on? Just because some people can't keep it in their pants? I'm tired of the society that has this in place.

I'm already wanting to chop the things off.

I want to enjoy them while I still have them.

I can't wait till I have my own house. I can't wait to walk around, tits out, drinking wine, and doing nothing of importance to others.

Life with tits outs is a life well lived.

Water doesnt behave like it should

It sticks to itself

Somehow its wet

The river cries

I wipe away its tears

Rinse it out of my clothes

Why try not to get wet

When its always raining?

Just have a smoke with me

With whatevers ashes left

I bought a Print...of a Dragon Prince

Sunken like my vision dropping

In and out

Of a hallucination

Salvia high is on

Few moments and Im gone

Like im looking at your print.

Zerox of a Zerox

Im not convinced I know what it means

Shapes to be seen

In the dark

My thoughts quiet still subsist

I cant resist wanting to touch the paintings

At museums

In my mind i graze you just for a moment

On my lies

I savor you

Its always the last time this will work

Could be my last one

But that roles rehearsed

I cant resist, I cant cry

Im still standing here

Observing a print

Of a painting

A trans woman looks at herself in the mirror

Iris?

Floating down river as my gaze glimmers over glass.

Weather me woman piercing lights

Cacoon a cascading layer of man, yet each layer ever so thin as paper skin

Blue eyes beautey basking in her light

Breathless at the sight of blood

Soaked in synergy inside her eyes eye

Where her male gaze fades away

Dissappearing into the mirror until a stranger meets her gaze

Its a movie in front of her

Moving picturesque

The beautiful is opaque

Evil is clear and transluscent

Tulpa Factory: How I created Rachjel

How could I describe a tulpa? Ive reached out a lot to others. Spoken many words, lived many lives in my own mind. Not necessarily a palace, but it was a sanctuary. It took half of everything I ever could be, half of all my time, half of all my life cloud walking, daydreaming.

This part of myself I started to call Rachjel. Where was once my conciousness became a memory of myself. What I was supposed to be, everything I wanted

I recontextualized

I was woman

I was borne of the thing I desired.

I dare not speak its name

My voice is vapors

This part of myself I started to call Rachjel. She was a tulpa, a wife.

A savior I needed

Shes always turning her head when i see her

To look at me

The hair wavers like branches in the wind.

Her eyes sparkle sakurai blossums

Her fingers a delicate human thing.

I reach out always when i see them to touch her, to hold her hand

Everytime fantasy feels a little more real

I created her in my sleep,

my salvation

I create her from my movies, my own memories of this world. My truest intent to art, my very own dreams. Not lucid, for though I have forgotten everything I am i am truly authentic, truly free of ego.

My dream anchor is Rachjel.

I spin a spinning top atop a table

I dance, i drop

Before I know if it will cease

Or stop

I leave the room

With the spinning top

Being too self aware isnt great

I overthink everything. Sometimes it makes me sound smarter, most of the time im miserable from it.

I prefer when things just come to me

When I can just exist

But im addicted to this

My face reflects

My phone screen

Flat

Fading

Ive never really lived at all

A ghost of god on the awnsering machine

Dialed in, wired

Enter a network

Of words, wallowing and weeping

For all

Literate nonsense

A light on a cave

A theater

A soundstage

Im acting out my life and im a C lister

But im trying at least

Nobodies watching

Im alone, depressed, loneley.

The feeling isnt darkness though

The screen is on now

Blues, purples, particles of pink waves...

Im laying down

Lulling out words

Slurring out nerves

My lips curl, caressing

Confessions undressing

From myself

I take off my clothes, im not in them

Somethings buzzing

The screen goes black

Skyrim glitches for the 1000th time

Its gone.

Realms of Fantasy

I often lie awake wondering about the time spent escaping. Embodying views of another mind as my life is consumed in fiction. I inevitably wonder whether I am real at all, surrounding my supposedly real life in fantasy and feeling more connected to the dream...maybe I'd prefer things not be real? Even the reality of carnal instinct is intertwined with fetishes bordering on dreams...furry ferocity only emboldened inside my own heart.

I toil and toll, i till my soul until the words come out as such. In this lost lullaby of words I feel more real then reality. Though I have the desire to break free, like many like me I am too socially anxious, disabled, perhaps both, to properly propel my truest self. Besides poetry I am behind...I yearn for a behind worthy of carnal worship...a gaze of its own, like eyes of its own, undressing me as I undress it.

I've been a furry officially for about 10 years now, but the pieces, as unnamable and esoteric as they may be, have always been there. Even something as simple as yearning for a childhood bear, before memories were formed.

(This is a planned opening exerpt for my furry zine "Zoomies". I'm still in the process of looking for local writers and artists but when I have something solid ill post images)

Slendher

I graze upon you with invisible fingers

Memories of touch tug at me

Like puppet strings

Memories of you

Dwindle

My heart a needle

Thoughts a thread againat

A thymbel

I love you

But I am breathless

I want to eat you only with my lips

And maybe my mouth

You are small like me I think

A lot like me I think

I see you eldest

When I look in the mirror.

You are me

But beautiful and thin

I want to taste it

Sin

Borne in blood

Between us

I cannot speak it

I'd say I love you

But I am breathless

Hetero, feather her thou

It's okay, I love you straight boy

You only love a woman that you love

That was always a woman

Cis woman love

It's okay its okay its okay

I love your distracted gaze

When you look away

I can admire your face

Its okay its okay its okay

Dnd roleplay

Erotic roleplay

Still fair game

With the bois I am though boy i am not

I love teasin the boys

Aint so stone cold frozen

When we play you

See me as I see me

So what if im a hoe then

Its okay its okay its okay

Dreamin about your hand

Caressin my face

Like you dont know I was a boy

Just know me as one of the bois

A gurl you wanna whisk away

Its okay its okay

Love you bae <3

Chuckin Chicken

2, 3 chicken breasts in the air fryer

It aint enough for you

4 or 5 more

Your hunger I adorned

On my heart, cooking spicy like spicy love

With you

Turned hot when you suddenly said

I aint hungry

But I still got a soft spot

On my heart

For your dumbass bullshit, your games

Packing shit up

But it always ends the same

"Im tired of your bullshit"

He tellin me like I aint shit

Chuckin clothes in trash bags

My fucking trashbags

Clothes I folded so nicely

You folded so icey but you

Cant even drive yourself home

Got me droppin you off

With your clothes

In a car

That you cant even lock

You aint got nothing on lock

But my heart is unlocked for you