colibri27

the other night i caught you with fingers so far down your throat they choked you from the inside out. your closed fists formed snail shell spirals at your sides and the tears in your eyes told the story you wouldn’t tell and i already knew. “i’m fine,” you said, not trusting me enough to say the truth. baby girl, you’re beautiful, but sometimes you tear me apart.

It’s like counting Saturn’s rings, hash marks along your limbs - remembering a time when ‘just one more’ made you feel better. - & you’re sitting there wondering why Draco, stuck in limbo always looks like he’s falling. -dp

The year they discovered my best friend, twenty years old and silent under the heap of her wrecked car, I learned one can sleep forever and never wake up. That year, her sister, only seventeen, ate magic mushrooms and lost her mind and her brother, fourteen, started running and stopped eating and I didn't eat magic mushrooms but lost my mind anyway as everyone watched my skin, too white to be real, disintegrate before their eyes. That year I flew to Colorado to see an urn surrounded by pointe shoes. It reminded me more of a wastebasket than the last I would see of the girl who shared my soul. Her sister ran naked through the street a few da

I I've for long known that beauty is not a sum, where units of measurements could consist of physical attributes, or of anything that could be perceived by bodily senses. The vivid, lush green of a finally quenched apprehension is just as graceful and lovely as the wrinkled and sunburnt blues of a distant memory's wall flowers. Beauty is a spectrum of vigour, the fluctuations of ideas, concepts, actions and thoughts, which become their own purposeless musical colours and flavours. No consensus creates allure, only a great, breathless leap into the disarray of affective venture may lead the consecrated energy to emerge. II I have seen the li

  To those who have suffered..... Gay Rights Suicide By Sasurealian  -       Suicide always seemed like the way to go at the time.  I felt sad, ya'know?  I got this feeling no one cared if I was dead or alive and then I questioned myself every time I was alone to think. Maybe it was because I started to like her.  Yea, 'her'.  There wasn't anything super special about her, but to me she was just so perfect. Oh, did I mention I was a girl?  Hmm, well I am.  Now that we cleared that up I'm sure this will make more sense;  or perhaps l

 For Her It started off like this When I gave you that first kiss It took you by surprise And made me close my eyes I won’t lie, I was scared As you stopped and stared I couldn’t even breathe But then you kissed me It shattered all our fear And made our love clear My feelings only grew But inside I always knew The time you fell from the swing From the first time I heard you sing The first time you held my hand I was so nervous I couldn’t stand Even though I can’t cook You still give me that look My hearts melts every time Reminding me how you’re mine You’re the ending to my story And the happines

Dear Jesus Christ, I went to bed at 3:16 last night and started thinking about John—John who pissed away every paycheck he ever made and only fucked virgins, John who beat up a woman's husband and spent a Christmas in jail, John who shot himself on the front porch of his mother's house. I don't think anyone shed a tear except her. I heard she shed many tears as she cleaned up the mess. I thought about when I first met him. It was at church. He and I were both eight. He sat next to me and we stared at that stained glass image of you in your white robe with your outstretched, loving arms, and he leaned into me and asked, "Do you bel

xvii. i want to write about how this world of absolute truth, knowledge, and solid food— that which we hold high between two fingers is always full of watery applesauce and little white half-truths. and about how utterly strange it is that all the simple things that people write about on pages are, in reality, very few and far between. xvi. and i want to write about how there is peace and war and poverty and treasure and cruelty and sometimes, sometimes, small and important moments of grace. xv. i want to write a poem about why the hell i'm wasting my time writing poems when i could maybe actually be doing something produ

I am gay. I'm not a disease, I'm not a problem I'm not an affliction I don't need treatment. I don't need help I'm not sick I'm not confused I'm not a sin. I am gay. I'm your daughter Your sister Your friend Your co worker Your classmate Your acquaintance A complete stranger I am gay. I need love, just like you I need smiles I need support I need a hug I need a friend I need a family I need acceptance I need understanding I need you I am gay. I know what love is I know what pain is I know what hate is I know what life is I am gay. And I need you to love me The same way you loved me before you knew I am gay.