"we are not a phase"
they had told us
to whisper our pronouns
hide our true colours painted on flags
like shame folds easier
than truth.

they say,
"love has rules"
but only when it looks
a certain way,
and we never looked
they way they had wanted,
the way they expected us to be.

but we exist
in full colour --
in quiet,
soft,
gentle first kisses,
in second glances that were held
a little too long by most,
in the hands that tremble
but still reach.

we are not a debate.
we are certainly not a phase.
we are stories
that are still being written,
in chalk
on our skin,
in protest,
and in poems.

and when they try to erase us,
who we are,
we come back.
louder.
softer.
screaming for rights.
still here.

she laughs into her girlfriend's shoulder
but watches me like a secret
like she's holding her breath-
a sigh of relief
in the shape of something new
and i see it-
the way her smile trembles
when our eyes catch,
like she's just met a truth
she wasn't looking for,
as she turns back to her girlfriend
the girl
who isn't me.

we never speak
just glance
across italian class
across the corridor
across everything we don't say

she sits beside.. him
laughing loudly as he kisses her cheek
but her eyes flick
they always do
to me.
the girl sitting alone
head in a book

we trade seconds
like stolen notes
neither is brave enough
to unfold
to admit
and maybe in some other version of today
those glances would have been hands

the moon is a whisper
on my bedroom wall,
she's ten times louder in my head

her name is a tide
it pulls,
it tugs,
it etches itself
on the inside of my eyelids.

every blink is a memory i didn't ask for
her laugh-
uninvited
but welcome
always

the bed is too big
for one body and this much longing
some nights
sleep forgets me
other nights
she replaces it

Healing doesn't come from
revisiting a wound

It comes from releasing it

When time was hard

you pulled me through.

Now that death has taken you away

who do I look to?

Gone too far

Gone too soon

You are always missed.

screaming,
all you do is scream,
i’m not good enough for you,
never enough.

i eat too much or not enough,
wrong clothes,
wrong hair,
wrong me,
all for you.

i can’t take this anymore,
please,
i’m crying,
breaking on the bathroom floor,
why can’t you see?

you told me you loved me
but love isn’t supposed to hurt,
not like this.

driving down the road
looking in the rear veiw
preparing for the next esisode
wounding we're it's going to lead to

glace forward to see a sign
and soon it comes to pass
look back to only see the tree line
where was it last

so stopping to back up
soon came a thought
but it was to late
it was in a blind spot

looking back driving straight ahead
after far enought it reads memory lane
and soon leaves a clear head
passing reminders of all the pain

then came the crash
after looking so long back
it all happend in a flash
happend to getting sidetracked

When I reach for free time
as an adult,
and quickly find it taken,

I remember that ambrosia
is only for the gods,
and mortals beware,

do not interfere
in anything
made for the gods.