Nov 23

Truthful Lies

My sharpened pencil tip hovers,
Just above the bubbles,
Marked Bisexual and Other.
I set my pencil down,
At the edge of the paper.

I score tiny marks against it,
Scratch at it,
Shading in the corner instead,
Angry at its decisiveness,
Angry at its lack of mistakes.

I erase it,
Take back the mark made,
In the formerly unmarked corner,
That I wish was a bubble,
And shade in Straight, Female.

They say, “truth is stranger than fiction,”
Well, sometimes lies are more truthfully received,
Than the false truths that pass unsure lips.
Sometimes confusion is more clear,
Than what’s believed you should be sure about.

Because sometimes questioning can be,
Like one of those carnival mirrors,
Distorting you in ways, that spark wonder,
As you begin to understand,
The falseness of how you are perceived.

And I’ve started to believe,
Nov 23

Red

October 1st Las Vegas,
59 killed, 527 injured.
November 5, Sutherland Springs,
26 dead, 20 injured
November 14, Rancho Tehama,
5 killed, 10 injured.

June 13th 2016,
I woke up to find headlines
That spoke of great tragedy.
A nightclub in Orlando,
An frightening gunman.

A gay nightclub,
A symbol of hope, acceptance,
Ravaged by violence,
Blood gleaming upon the floor,
And in the footsteps we had yet to take.

October 2nd,
I woke up to find headlines,
That spoke of new tragedy,
A music festival in Las Vegas,
A deranged gunman.

A country music festival,
A place of laughter, and happiness,
Silence by the bang of shots,
Then filled with police sirens,
Playing their somber tune.

November 6th,
I woke up to the headlines,
That spoke of newer tragedy.
A church service in Texas,
A crazed gunman.
Nov 05
poem 2 comments challenge: I Am

I am not

I am a lot of things,
I am queer.
I am a writter.
I am one of "today's teens."
I am an introvert.
I am confused.

However,
I am not going through phase,
I am not good at grammar.
I am not unmotivated.
I am not always, shy and quiet.
I am not invalid.

The tree loses its leaves in winter,
It reagins them in the summer,
And they turn a marvoulous green,
Before turning ruby red in the fall,
And falling off the tree once more.

The tree is still a tree,
I am still me.
Even if I don't know what,
exactly that is,
I know some of what's it's not.

I am not who I was in sixth grade,
I don't know what I'll be senoir year.
I am not who I pretended to be then,
I don't know what I really am.
I am sure only of what I'm not.

I was so afraid for so long,
that confusion discounted me,
As idiotic as it may seem,
Oct 27

Dawn

In cold, crisp light I looked upon the clouds,
That drifted up high, so far from the ground.
Their color stained with sunlight,
They were quite the sight. 
And as I looked to them I realized,
I yearned to grasp at them, and stay in the morning sky,
But alas I knew that they would slip from my grip.
And without so much as a sound,
Send me tumbling back to the ground.

 
Oct 27

Rain

The sky turns a darker gray,
As I look on afraid,
Knowing it will soon rain.
And with that comes blame.

I look to my empty hand,
And then where I stand,
In unsheltered land,
That has yet not to be found.

And then I hear the pit, pit, patter,
Of the first drops of rainwater.
The safety of umbrellas a taunt,
I hold out my palm.

And soon the first drops fall.
I watch as others dodge,
Holding umbrellas up tall.
Still I stand with open palm.

And I realize, the people with the umbrellas
Are just as if not more, scared of the rain,
And all it will wash away.
And I am no longer afraid.

 
Oct 27

Sparrow

A sparrow perched at the base of an oak,
Its small wings folded along its sides.
Its eyes bright and wide.
It leapt up and ascended to the beloved sky,
Its eyes sharp and small,
It found that the perch at the top of the oak,
Did not make it feel big,
But rather made it see how small it was,
In the face of the mighty oak, 
And its beloved sky.

 
Oct 04

Buzz.

My phone buzzes,
I reach for it,
Then I stop.
I don't want to look.

It buzzes again,
The screen goes bright,
I pause bitting my lip,
My hands tremble.

This isn't normal,
I've said it before,
So much so that,
It's gotten repetitive.

I should grab my phone,
Lurch for it,
Eyes lighting up,
Eager to text my friend.

Instead I just stare at it,
Because now,
When it buzzes,
I think news alert.

I think mass shooting,
I think tragedy has struck again.
I think I'm not ready.
I think I'm too ready.

I know the response,
Bang,
Loud and clear,
We grieve, we pray.

Then the sound fades away,
Leaving silence,
Awful silence, 
Deafening silence.

I can't tell which is worse,
The buzz of a phone,
Or the silence,
Of our refusal to change.

Buzz.
News Alert.
Oct 02

Untitled

Sep 21

Small Town Living

It's funny, I hear people talking 'bout old fashioned towns,
Idillic small towns, where people still smile and wave,
There they still have values they say.
And there, kids know what's what and behave.

I feel like laughing at the idea, 
For a little while at least. 
In the end I just shake my head,
Knowing people are so blind to the beast.

"They still have morals there," you say,
"They treat their neighbors right, and their kids don't fight,"
I just smile and shake my head,
Thinking back too those dark cricket filled nights.

Their kids don't have to fight,
Because there they know how to hate, "right,"
There's no debate they just hate those who're different,
Sweeping everything they perceive as wrong out of sight.

"Nothing bad ever happens round those parts,"
You don't know what it was like listening in,
To the only metropolitan news broadcast there was, 
Sep 21

Ode to Outcasts

An Ode to Outcasts:

Talking to you,
Sitting at the back table,
It brings me back,
To the time of fables.

We used to love those old tales,
Back when we believed.
We used to trust, completely,
Back when we held tight to dreams.

They told it us that it was okay,
So it was.
There were no questions,
No social games to be won.

Acceptance was the norm,
Or so we thought.
Alas as we grow in size we grow less wise,
And those ideals were blotted out. 

The choppy waters of cliques dragging us down,
We clung to friendships like driftwood.
However, unable to stay afloat in waves of rumors,
We let go of people we'd too long held onto.

All too early we started sinking below those choppy waters,
But from the debris of old,
We'll make a new raft for us, 
And though I can't promise smooth sailing, I can promise I won't let go.

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