Lesbian.I chose this life.I chose to set myself up as an Outcast.I chose to hear my best friendsTell me that I am going to hell.I chose to hear the words Dyke and FaggotSpat through scornful lips in my direction.I chose to lose the love of my Family.To hear them say that I was sick.That I was wrong.I chose to place the dreamsOf marrying the person I loveIn a file marked as classifiedBy popular demand.I chose to have the doors of my churchSlammed in my faceBecause apparently, I am the exception to"Love your fellow man."I chose to be chastisedFor holding hands in public.I chose to look over my shoulderAt every cornerAfraid for my life simply becauseI fell in love.I chose this life.I chose to be a Lesbian.
ChessMother and Father play a game of chess every day. I never understood the game until they explained it to me. Father, an engineer and part-time craftsman, told me how the pieces were made and how the board was set. Mother, a human resources worker, taught me to move the pieces and to play the game. They have their favorite pieces, too. Father likes the bishop, mother the pawn, simply because there are so many. She can move them to whatever position she likes if it fits her strategy. And her strategies are always very complicated- I can never understand them. Somehow though, father always wins.
One ContrastedNothing ever in literature can compare to the beauty of a sunrise. Perhaps nothing yet written could contrastNothing ever in this world could comprehend the wonder of changing seasons. Perhaps nothing in this world can yet understandNothing yet created can compare to the light from the stars themselves. Perhaps nothing yet created shines so bright[Only one contrasting statement does it take to shatter the rule]Nothing ever in literature could compare to the beauty of her smile Because nothing yet written has the power to depict
Nothing ever in this world could comprehend the wonder of her changing expres
As Always HiddenKnow that my affection for youIs gone and my hatred and dislikeGrows stronger every day.Anything I've told you aboutThe feelings I've hadWas a lie. I once told you IWill always be there for youBut I Cringe and pine for freedom withEvery moment spent with you.Every ended conversationIs a gift from godAnd anything you feel for me is somethingThat I wouldn't dream of returning.I can't stand your personality and not once haveI thought you were beautiful.I can't stand the sight of you or the sound of your voiceAnd that will never change.Any time apart from you andMy heart leaps from my chestWith relief, only to sink back downEvery time I so much as look at you;I gaze into those windows to a blackened soulAnd it leaves me at a loss for words.My fingers twitch and my skin crawlsEvery time you wrap your arms around meAnd every time you weaken your grip, there is freedom--I sincerely wish it didn't have to end.If you look back I know you will realizeThis is the harde
NostalgiaHow long has it been,Really,Since I’ve put pen to paperAnd screamed at the inkTo flow in just the right way?Perhaps there’s not been a reason,As of late,Because I’ve known exactlyWhat I’m thinkingAnd have grown accustomed to it.Or perhaps there’s not been a reason,As of late,Because I’ve been so thoroughlyDistractedIn building a new life, in a new place.But now the pen is back on paperAnd there is somethingIn the inkTo which I have grown very muchUnaccustomed:There is a sense of wondering,A sense of uncertainty,A sense of not quite knowingWhat I am thinking,Or when the words spill over.I find myself confused and confoundedExamining thoughts,Prayers,Wishes,Not knowing how ever they arrivedNor do I know where they are going.So I am falling backInto the old patternsOf screaming at the penTo tell me, “just what am I thinking?”But, the only things I am left withAre a few linesOn an otherwise blank pageAnd
FragmentedSnow fell fourteen timesBefore the first.Leaves changed twice moreBefore the next.Now, when leaves welcome snow,It becomes a burstOf light: a memory,A shattering impact, connectsWith an impossible target.Standing on thin ice,Now just as cold and unforgiving,She watches the demons' dance.The movement is a token,A souvenir from twiceBeing told to collect the scars,And so watching the blood pranceThrough the veins in her armWith the knife in the other hand.Nothing was left behindExcept a figment.
CarelessThey held the testimonialsOf an emotional mute--Written confessions, the inkTo replace lost speech.They squandered the hoursOf the over-extended,While they provided and escapeFor the over-thought.They painted picturesWithout a brush stroke,And they created lifeWithout life themselves.They were the ramblingsOf the disturbed,And the epiphaniesOf the enlightened.And Yet
They were crumpled up,Thrown into waste bins,Hidden in back pages,And tossed carelessly aside.Who would have guessedThat after all this timeThe ink would remainJust as clearAs the day it was printed?
For a ComposerI want to show you a placeWhere the depression never hits,Where the scrapes and scarsAren't reminders,Or bad memories.Where the smiles don't hideThe holes in your wall,Or the blood under your fingernails.I want to find a Never LandBuilt just for youWhere you don't have to worryAbout the shortening length of timeBetween those inexplicable moments,Or whether or not the voices that whisperTo you from a pillowWill have you waking upWith foggy vision and shaking hands.But if it had to be simple,I'd settle for watching youWrite one of your songsAnd just knowing that the first measureWasn't writtenAs a result of the painOr a need for distraction.
UntitledRage filled heat covers me, becomes one with me, is me.Slowly I feel it flowing though my bones, warming, filling me with... with what I am not sure.I don't believe there is a name for it,
BlankDraw me as you seeWhat you see at first glanceThe presence of a teenage girlCan you draw the pain inside?The scars never fading and redBurdensome depressionHate from peers and societyFor my love of another girlCan you draw the fighting?The good and the badDifficulty to liveStruggling everydayCan you draw that?Please oh pleaseDraw meAndie
Why?The women I have loved,Sensuous and shimmeringLeaving shivers in their wake.The men who have loved me,Powerful and dominatingEach a bitter mistake.All I dream of is a beautiful girl,A real woman who can sweep me off my feet.Teach me the meaning of true loveAnd re-light the embers of my dying soul.Why can't I find her?
TWO SPIRIT: GBLT INDIAN NATIONTWO SPIRIT - HOMOSEXUALITY IN NATIVE AMERICAN TRIBESby Matthew BarryHomosexuality was common in Native American cultures, as well as cultures throughout the world. Every tribe had a different name for it, but the names all translate to "Two Spirits." The Native American People looked upon these unique individuals (Two Spirit People) as something special the Great Mystery created to teach us. "These people had something special to tell us."The Two Spirits in most Native cultures have traditionally lived between the sexes, claiming both male and female, and were typically healers, prophets, teacher and spiritual leaders and advisors, shamans, peacemakers or arbitrators, name givers, and were special and honored persons in the tribe.Two Spirit people, specifically male-bodied (biologically male, gender female), could go to war and have access to male activities such as sweat lodges. However, they also took on female roles such as cooking and other domestic responsibil
PrisonerOne day, Jeffree was flying through the forest at a fast pace. He was crying hysterically, tears streaming down his face. His father had just told him that he was set to marry Helena, the fairy princess. Although she was kind and beautiful, Jeffree felt that something was wrong. He didn't feel attracted to Helena. He didn't want to be in a forced, loveless marriage, and he knew that he could never love Helena the way that she deserved to be loved.I got no regretsAnd I remember the day that we metThere was no way that I could forgive youSo I followed you homeAnd I waited till you were aloneJeffree was growing tired. The combination of crying and flying at such a fast pace wasn't a good idea. He decided to stop and rest on the leaf of a purple arc anthurium. In Jeffree's eyes, it was the most beautiful flower in the entire forest, and Jeffree frequented the leaves, whether to cry or just relax. He felt a sense of comfort in the beauty.When he shut his eyes, Jeffree remember
Hope's Response "Am I supposed to be happy, when all I ever wanted... It came with a price." The next (and last) time Hope saw Julian it was at the viewing.It was a very nice funeral (Mrs. McKinn had put a lot of effort into it). All of Julian's family was there. As were the band nerds, and the music teacher, and the entire GSA (all nine members, including Hope) and some miscellaneous people. Pink and yellow lilies were arranged into bouquets of elevens and tweleves, with sprays of baby's breath and ferns interlaced between the fragrant flowers. The coffin was cherry wood, (the grain tightly interlaced) and Julian rested on pink satin. Mourners shuffled passed it (some actual mourners others merely sad).Hope tried not to scoff at the pink. Julian hated pink. Pink was a watered down version of red (the color of passion and love). It was nice to see everyone.A note was struck. Hope recognized it as Gloomy Sunday by Seress (only because Julian had told her so). She looked about for the myster
At the end of the RainbowAt the end of the rainbowIt is said there is treasureNo one has ever been known to get thereNo one has ever seen the treasureDoes anyone really know what the treasure truly is?Have you ever noticed something about rainbows?
.It's the symbol of gay people
Forgotten girl.I was the forgotten girl.I've been used and discarded, I've got nothing left.I'm exhausted and emotional.I'm numb from the pain, although it still stings a bit.Then you came into my life..You took away all the hurtYou made me happy againEven made me feel better about my selfYou protected me from what i've been hiding from my entire life.
RESPECT the Differences"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." The Declaration of IndependenceI will not speak of religion; I have no right to that. I'm agnostic. I will not speak of sins and commandments and gods; I follow only the question of "Right or Wrong?" It is wrong to kill, for instance, but it is not wrong to love my parents (even if it IS tough sometimes). I will not tell you how to live your life; I would not want you telling me how to live mine. I will attempt to respect you and your beliefs; I only ask that you show me that same respect in return.I will now get the inevitable questions out of the way. I am bisexual, and I have a loving, gentle (mostly *chuckles*), understanding girlfriend. My parents do know about my sexuality (though my mother always seems to be under the impression that I'm lesbian, rather than bi), an
Ode to Souls our society is built on the binary of proper lines.spotless, picturesque, sanitary lives trailing cycle upon cycle of symmetry.yet we function better without framed order.we have wanderlust built into our core; we bleed out the seasons when it suits us.our lives are made of tire treds feeding the clouded sunset, skies pouring violently overravenous hearts seeking catharsis.the nyctophiliac, the heliophiliac.the nemophilist, the pluviophile.if we breathed in your blank normalcy, we'd crumble and die.
That Mirror in the ClosetThat mirror in the closetIs of no use to you.You try each day to see yourselfWhile in that dark, cramped room.You strain for your reflectionBut it never comes out clear.I'm sure you'd see much betterIf you'd only come out here.You've wanted to get outBut cannot say a word.You'd give your hiding spot awayIf someone overheard.And if they happened to hear youWhat would happen then?The closet wouldn't save youAnd it never would again.But would it be so badWith people just like you?Is it honestly a living hellOr the bravest of things to do?If you happen to open the doorJust take a glance outsideAnd I'm sure you'll discover thenThere's no reason you should hide.And if you come out to usWe'll be here for youBehind your reflection in the mirrorSmiling back with you.©Julie De Stefano
Today, I DiedToday, I died.They strung me up on a rainbow ropeAnd lit a fire beneath my feet.Actually, I'm enjoying the warmth.