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Literature Text
the marks on my skin is not a fashion statement
the feeling of my skin splitting apart is not meant to be envied
no handsome boy will kiss your scars and read sad poetry with you
it does not make you a diamond in the rough
it does not make you that beautiful sad girl
you’ll just end up like me
crying because you can’t let your girlfriend see you in your underwear
scared she’ll leave you when she sees them
because no one needs that much baggage
thrust upon them after a month
the feeling of my skin splitting apart is not meant to be envied
no handsome boy will kiss your scars and read sad poetry with you
it does not make you a diamond in the rough
it does not make you that beautiful sad girl
you’ll just end up like me
crying because you can’t let your girlfriend see you in your underwear
scared she’ll leave you when she sees them
because no one needs that much baggage
thrust upon them after a month
Literature
Homophobia
This one goes out to
that boy on the street,
whose father wouldn't look
at him when he caught him
kissing another boy.
This one goes out to
that girl on the ground,
because her mother
couldn't handle that she'd
given birth to a lesbian.
This one goes out to
all those hurt by words,
like 'dyke,' 'faggot,'
or 'queer.'
This one goes out to
all those who thought
they could tell anything
to someone.
(only to find,
they could only tell
some things.)
This one goes out to
the boy lying six feet
underground, because
the world didn't like
who he "chose" to love.
This one goes out to
the girl who sobbed
in the shower, when
Literature
Gay? Who? Me.
Are you gay?
The question at first startled me.
Speechless, unsure what I could say.
Are you gay?
The second time it was asked and I was silent
I had heard it before, but just earlier that day.
Are you gay?
Each time it was asked it filled me with shock.
What did it matter either way?
Are you gay?
When it was asked for the last time, I was at a loss.
Should I lie or lay in the bed I had made?
I am gay.
Maybe I am too young to know,
But this is what my heart wills me to say.
I am gay.
Maybe it is foolish to say so,
Yet it would be true to this day.
I am gay.
There can be hate or they can embrace.
I won't waver either way.
Literature
A letter from a gay son.
Dear Dad,
There are some thing that must be said between me and you. Some points that must be covered. For a long time now, I have hated you. For many different reasons. Let me explain.
For the first 14 years of my life, I did not know you as a sober man. Alcohol had consumed you life as fast as you consumed it. You were a raving, raging drunk whenever you were awake, or a passed out, smelly pile of rags when you weren't. It was pathetic to watch.
I have no doubt that the hardest choice you made during those years was weather to come home and pass out, beat up me, or beat up mom. How you could have ever called this a life is beyond me. You
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TW: Mentions of self harm
I overheard a girl in my class talking about how self harm scars are so romantic so I got out my phone and angrily wrote this.
© 2014 - 2024 ameiya
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