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Literature Text
imagine a boy, eighteen years old and scared to death as he stutters "dad,
i want you to meet my b-boyfriend." and picture not a look of anger but a look
of pride as the father grins and asks to be introduced. because love is love, and
no person deserves to be despised based on who they make out with.
think of the soldiers, battered and bruised and burned beyond recognition,
or how this little girl, perfect in her imperfections, had her fate decided for her;
because even though she said her please-s and thank-you-s she preferred kissing girls
to boys and in someone's mind, that made her unworthy of living.
in someone's mind, she didn't deserve to breathe the same air as a straight girl.
and so maybe the next time you tell the fag to go hang themselves from the rafters,
imagine a young boy curled up into a ball as he contemplates the best way of how not
to grow up; whether covering the parquet floor with grey matter would be more or less
disturbing than using his father's tie to choke himself, and instead think of that boy's
best-friend-cum-lover holding his hand to fight off the demons.
because it's not just the words or the fists: it's teenage girls curling up in balls of
ill-disguised misery as boys try to make them straight; it's young boys torn between their
father's fist and their mother's love, and not knowing which one's more potent; it's
being burned from the inside out with all kinds of horrors. but no one - race, age,
sexuality be damned - deserves to be raped by monsters. stop lying about equal
opportunities when society dictates it's the victim who's to blame, where skinny jeans
and a preference for same-sex marriage can destroy a case. i want to know when you'll
wake up to the hypocrisy and lies spewing from your mouth, because i have.
henry ward beecher's last words were "here comes the mystery." teenagers should not
get the chance to solve that puzzle, and parents shouldn't have to bury their children.
i want you to meet my b-boyfriend." and picture not a look of anger but a look
of pride as the father grins and asks to be introduced. because love is love, and
no person deserves to be despised based on who they make out with.
think of the soldiers, battered and bruised and burned beyond recognition,
or how this little girl, perfect in her imperfections, had her fate decided for her;
because even though she said her please-s and thank-you-s she preferred kissing girls
to boys and in someone's mind, that made her unworthy of living.
in someone's mind, she didn't deserve to breathe the same air as a straight girl.
and so maybe the next time you tell the fag to go hang themselves from the rafters,
imagine a young boy curled up into a ball as he contemplates the best way of how not
to grow up; whether covering the parquet floor with grey matter would be more or less
disturbing than using his father's tie to choke himself, and instead think of that boy's
best-friend-cum-lover holding his hand to fight off the demons.
because it's not just the words or the fists: it's teenage girls curling up in balls of
ill-disguised misery as boys try to make them straight; it's young boys torn between their
father's fist and their mother's love, and not knowing which one's more potent; it's
being burned from the inside out with all kinds of horrors. but no one - race, age,
sexuality be damned - deserves to be raped by monsters. stop lying about equal
opportunities when society dictates it's the victim who's to blame, where skinny jeans
and a preference for same-sex marriage can destroy a case. i want to know when you'll
wake up to the hypocrisy and lies spewing from your mouth, because i have.
henry ward beecher's last words were "here comes the mystery." teenagers should not
get the chance to solve that puzzle, and parents shouldn't have to bury their children.
Literature
The Boy With the Glasses
The boy with the glasses
Puts them on
And sees the world
For what it truly is
Cruelty, loneliness
He sees
Anger, frustration
He sees
And it is all too much
He can't take
Their expectations
Their rules, their ways
He would rather just see the world
Through his own blinded eyes
So he takes the glasses off
Not wanting to see
He takes the glasses off
To forget.
Literature
losing my religion
you're making me lose my faith
those who claim they believe
in the same God as me
He is all-loving, His son respected everyone
and that's how we're supposed to be
yet you judge so quickly
those who love someone of the same gender
those with different skin color
those who have different beliefs
when did you become so perfect?
you say you believe in the same God as me
Well it's about time you prove it
you're making me question my faith
you who say 'there is no God' or 'prove it'
over and over again
maybe I can't prove He exists
but can you prove He doesn't?
let everyone believe what they want
and respect those who respect you
Literature
Shopping
I'm not looking hard enough
but I'm seeing underneath,
the underneath.
Tell that to my knees,
the very ones
that throb, and ache.
Bruised from car doors
and you.
They hurt a lot worse
than it looks.
But, boys don't like girls
with broken knees,
bloody fingers,
or eyes for someone else.
I don't bother anymore
looking, that is.
I write and write and write
and write and write and write
Of loves that never happened,
flaws and imperfections
[ as I forgot how to shape my lips
to form words in my defense. ]
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Edit: August 1st 2012 - added the penultimate stanza.
Go and watch this. It's eighteen kinds of heartbreaking.
For :
1.) Is the flow alright? Are there sentences that should be adjusted to make it read better?
2.) Does the poem make sense? For those of you in the LGBT community, does it seem like I know what I'm on about or does it just sound like angry ramblings?
3.) Is there any way I could improve the overall feel of the poem or is it alright as is?
Critiques here and here.
© 2012 - 2024 little-swift
Comments25
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Slightly too much curling up, and the last stanza is a rant more than a poem, but the whole thing it's self if beauuuuutiiful. Utterly fantastically so. I love the end as well. Perfect. Also the title is really awesome, I might steal it. Generally I love this whole entire thing. I also love the " no person deserves to be despised based on who they make out with. " And just all of it. You're brilliant.