Lgbtqiap+poetry - Tumblr Posts

For John, all of the people I love and to celebrate a day with no hatred. Gender is what’s between your ears, not what’s between your legs, and love is love no matter what.

to those who are held back by an ill-fitting skin

my friend, he cried in my arms I held him close and let him weep until he could let it go and talk without fear of trembling.

He told me they had done nothing it was just words that had hurt him so left bruises and cuts and scars all over. They said that there are only girls-who-are-girls and boys-who-are-boys and there was no in between no either/or no and.

He cried for the wrongness of it, the idea that he was not supposed to be who he thought he was. The other day, he said, someone asked me what I was. I didn’t know what they meant I didn’t know I didn’t know

The question was not what are you but who are you and no one seemed to ask.

I told him they were right and he screamed, beating at my chest and crying I was just like them. I held him tight within the cage of my arms and did not let go, waited until he had worn himself out with the agony of perceived betrayal. Then I whispered softly that I had a secret.

I told him that they were right there are no boy-who-are-girls and girls-who-are-boys there are girls, and boys, and either/or and and you are what you choose to be and who you think you are is what you am

You are not a girl-who-is-a-boy and I am not a boy-who-is-a-girl you are a boy and I am a girl Let’s hold hands instead of the broken halves of our hearts.

I don’t mean to demean the struggle you have endured, the part of your being that comes from living for years in an ill fitting skin. That has and always will be you, it has made you and shaped you to be who you are.

But until we realise that people are people and you cannot change that no matter the gender or non gender you are a boy and I am a girl. When we can be recognised as boys and girls

then, maybe, if you want you can be a boy-who-used-to-be-a-girl and I will still call you John.

Through my words he stopped crying and beating against my chest, rested his head on my shoulder and held on for dear life. His skin felt a little less constricting a little less ill-fitting, broken and burnt. With that I said my secret- the one that kept me here.

you are what you think you are and that, my dear, is beautiful.

friday i'm in love (also i have your pants)

i text a lot of things at you without meaning because i’m meaning not to say too much. i got milk and look at this cat have you seen my eyeliner today, also i have your pants. you know the ones i borrowed and then i didn’t quite give back. i’m letting go now, i swear. we’re nothing more than friends. also i have your scarf, you left it the last time you were over because you left in a hurry. apparently you’re allergic to tulips or in some way to me because i hugged you on the way in and you turned right back out. god i hate myself more than i hate this or you. i text you still a lot, but never first; chivalrous and always after you. am i easier when you don’t have to look at me? also i like to look at you. every also i say is something i haven’t said to you. also i miss you. i can’t really miss you because i never had you. as your best friend i have to say i’m glad that you are happy. also it’s only just that i wish it were with me. also i’ll never do a thing about it. so i’ll just sit here and say also that i love you just a little and i’m not sure why. not a little. also i have your pants. also you have my heart.