life is crazy slow

life is crazy slow
it tastes like hot breath
beneath my waistband
restless all night
it doesn’t make a difference
staring at the ceiling
when I’m in someone else’s bed
someone else’s life


i believe every feeling

i believe every feeling
torturing myself
take a pill
cheer up
be energetic
i hate when people say that
i’m not gay, when clearly
they don’t know who I’ve fucked
i just cover myself with ― nothing
that reminds me of my body
because I just feel stupid
and the lies stack on top of each other
in moments of panic
like when she kissed me on the lips

someone has her eye on me

someone has her eye on me
I dance, have fun, try to pretend
I can’t see her watching me
in my perfect world

she is there, watching me
in the corridor
when I look at her
once — twice
at her shoulders, wet eyelashes

she can see my deepest thoughts
desire, her hands in my back pockets
we meet at the back of the school

I wash my face, my hands
but I can still smell her, taste her
lips against my mouth

she tells me I’m too shy
but I don’t care
when we die together

I do try
to accept the truth
because of them;

my heart is black, childish,
average teenage connections
shrill and clatter, watching;

for nothing is new,
just common sense,
power to transform, divide;

this madness relationship,
nascent eyes focus, run
with ancient yearning;

digital natives plan revenge,
legalised brains, free minds
cannot accept a teenage lesbian.

truth—I knew she lied

truth—I knew she lied
an answer that was not an answer
no matter how many times we lay together
when it’s not love but a need
to feel another’s skin against my own
to tremble when I realised she lied
despite how close her lips were to mine
I told her I won’t leave—until I have her answer
she rolled over in bed—toward the open window
I wonder if she thinks about flying away like I do
answer me, I say—answer me, answer me, answer me


she takes off her clothes
wrapped around her love
lips upon honeysuckle breasts…
teenage boys grind their dreams


Neruda’s words move softly over my skin,
cooing to me like a dove
before his tongue circles infinity
between my thighs I feel him
the touch of a master poet
reaching deep within my secret thoughts
here I lie, on my bed,
lips parted, body a-quiver
as the poet meets my desire
and I turn the page

the body of a woman

the body of a woman
does not surrender
or succumb —
creating magic in her womb
nurturing life with her breasts
― not bound by man’s desire
she is not a doll
for she is a woman

Create a free website or blog at

Up ↑