Yeah, I write poetry.
Poetry is 'lit'.
It's emotion put into words we poets know
can't even begin to express our thoughts.
It's a lyrical dance with rhyme and rhythm and melody
with out the back up.
It's a safe space, where 'Anonymous' can be the most relatable person you've ever experienced.
It's a 'Come-to-Jesus' for some, a 'Join Lucifer's army' for others.
We find poetry through feeling or lack of it;
I found poetry through 'inner pain'.
Some find it through love, hurt, loss, new beginnings and old endings.
So, yeah. Maybe its not super upfront, and decoding the symbolism takes
heart, but, feeling reality will never go out of style.

i dont care if you're
purple with scales on your cheeks (all of them)
with green and red eyes
turquoise toes and burgundy feet
i dont care if you're
fingers are nonexistent
and your left hand shakes when you say "grocery store"
i would still love you even if you
had claws for hair and a
twenty-three foot hairy, green
tentacle hanging between your legs.

When Cheryl Blossom said,
"Her
name was Heather,"
No one else heard
The silent emphasis,
but it rang in my ears.
A persistent stinging in the back of my throat,
tearing at my eyes
pouring from my mouth,
coating my ******* thick,
black and red
vicious drink of liars.

Back
Long before i found my truth
i was hiding.
And i hid well.
Behind walls of pronouns
and long sleeves to cover.
Behind book covers and
blank sketchbooks.
i was fading
Then i found something.
i found poetry.
i would write pages
and pages
of impermanent pen.
Angry lines removed beautiful
TRUE
cries of attraction and attention
i bled words and cried ink.
To be honest,
"She"
my muse, my love, my angel
became
"Him"
****** and painful.
Now i have light.
F**k you homophobes,
Those who made me uncomfortable in my own skin.
I come out
STRONG
And i love her and
She loves me.

checkerboard flooring, red rose walls
the large caterpillar's snoring, lets count humpty-dumpty's falls

excessively strong tea, smiles that drive the crowds crazy
a snakeskin hat just for me, something in the tea made the world a little wavy

find me that hare, i want a scone
the white roses are still there, i want a jabberwocky of my own

please give me a design, i'll sew it up for you
NO THAT ONE'S MINE, i'll make tea for two

i want to save the world, then again it really doesn't matter
'cause you won't understand a word, i'm mad as a hatter

I went out poontangin’, just the other day.
I only did it so my friends won’t think I’m gay.
I might like the tang, but the **** not so much.
I much prefer the guys, but am afraid to say.

Two, four, six, eight:
Ain’t it great to deviate!
Seven, eight, nine, ten:
What so great about being straight?

I am tired of what some people say about my life
How I should settle down and get myself a wife
But sooner or later she will choose a game to play
That I don’t want to play, you see, because I am gay.

One, two, three, four:
I don’t want to hide no more!
Two, three, four, five:
I’m here, I’m queer, and I’m alive!

I want to come out, but I don’t want to suffer;
I have to be the true person that I am.
Acting like a rapacious macho lady’s man
Is simply a pose, a body language scam.

Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen:
Please accept the truth you’ve seen!
Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen and more:
People pleasing is a crashing bore.