She didn’t love me
the way I needed…
The way I wanted to be loved.
She couldn’t.
Didn’t have the ability.
She could if she changed.
But she won’t change.
That would take too much
work, vulnerability, and humility.
So she deludes life and
eschews love.
She doesn’t care.
There are a lot of other people
who live like her.
Likely someone reading this poem
right now.
I think it’s sad, but I guess
it’s really very human for people
to be afraid of change,
and afraid of love.
To love is to risk losing love
or risk not receiving love.
I’ll take that risk.
And I’m proud I will.
Tag: Poems
She is the first lesbian witch
who I have known.
Who I have loved.
Wanted very much so.
But I will never touch her.
For principle.
For reasons.
For learnings.
For loving my soul.
For loving
her soul and
our soul.
This soul.
The perimeter is everything.
Cast out everywhere.
Radiation. Reverberance.
Joy. Patience.
Acceptance how things are.
This is the kind of magic
that a lesbian witch weaves.
This is a spiritual love poem
that only high Sapphic love
could write.
So there, now I touch all
the women I love
… so holy, holy, holy.
You could create a civilization
around her ass.
You could solve all the world’s
problems with her ass.
Defeat bigotry and fascism,
cure cancer,
heal our planet,
save the children,
bring back Jesus,
and undo capitalism.
Yes, I would do anything that ass
were to ask of me.
And her ass is really just the
cherry on top of an incredible
performer, musician, and
good person.
This ass belongs to JoAnn,
a punk rock vixen,
lead singer of Hen & The Cocks
from lovingly weird Denton, Texas.
You have read that correctly;
Denton, Texas is home to the
world’s greatest ass.
I’m a lesbian top.
A “servant top”.
I like to use my tongue,
lips, hands, and toys.
And very good, attentive, caring,
and tuned into all the above.
Love to blow my lady’s mind
and take her breath away
and elevate her soul.
While I like to be the “doer”,
I’m very femme & sensual
at the same time;
gaspy, moany, intoxicated with you.
Love deep kisses and being
chest to chest.
I prefer not to use my thing
that was turned from a clxt
into a wee wee
in my mother’s womb,
but if you really want that
then I could be open to it.
She has the face of a pristine
angel.
And a heavenly, swollen, strong,
smooth, suave, sweet,
feminine power clxt.
And that’s about where the
alignment of our
hearts and minds ended.
Her narcissism liked my passionate
attraction to her.
My servant soul liked giving
into and pleasing her.
But we were able to do
quite a lot
with just these elements;
lots of damage
and lots of joy.
My peni$ smells like pu$$y.
Good pu$$y.
Sweet pu$$y.
Again,
I’m talking about a peni$
my peni$, smelling like pu$$y.
And no, not because I
fkd a cisgender woman
with good, sweet pu$$y.
My peni$ smells like good
sweet pu$$y
because
I take female hormones
and I’m a woman
with a peni$.
You know,
womanliness wouldn’t fuck up
having a peni$.
Womanliness takes a peni$
and makes it actually ok, tolerable,
a real prized pony.
I hung around a guy tonight.
He was really horny.
I was really horny too.
He was kind and cool,
and honestly,
pretty handsome.
I knew that should I want,
I could have him, we could fck.
I would know exactly what to do.
I know how to satisfy people,
anyone,
deeply,
pleasurably, heavenly.
But as I said,
he was a man,
so I had zero interest in him.
It’s moments like this that I know
I’m gay.
Horniness meets horniness.
It’s there for the taking.
But I do not take it, nor do I care.
And so I laid down in bed and
thought about women
and touched myself.
Did you want to see my gonads?
I’m not real sure you do.
They’re really very weird looking,
like all male-born gonads
(in my own personal opinion).
After receiving female hormones
they’ve shriveled up a bit.
I’d even say they’re kind of cute now,
as cute as male-born gonads can be.
46 years ago
they started on a journey.
Ever since, they have come outside,
into the golden sunlight world.
And since, I’ve wish they’d go,
go back inside,
or maybe even go away completely.
They’re going to be removed
from my body soon,
so soon, their unnecessary journey
will end.
My love, she brings me violets
from her garden.
They wither and hang on.
She sneaks around her husband
to kiss me on the side street
behind the bar.
My fk, she steals away from her
girlfriend around midnight
once a week.
She used to be my love,
but now we just fck.
She knows about my new love and
her heart aches a little cuz she knows
I’ll always be loved somewhere
in between.
A transwoman halfway between
commitment and a promise,
half a human to most people,
except the few women who let me
exist with their breaths,
then I am whole only cuz
the two of us are
whole together,
holding each other’s corporeal
souls.
They know me more than
halfway
then.
They believe they are alive
in ways they’ve never lived.
She sees I’m looking
for love.
And she’s scared.
Scared that someone could
look for love that bad,
that the world could make
someone so hopeful,
though so needy,
held on this cosmic ocean,
a sand grain
whirled before infinity and
annihilation.
She sees the annihilation
that my heart beats
every time she looks at me,
into my eyes,
and she sees all that’s been
lost and all that will be lost.
She’s scared, so she stops
looking and forgets in time.
But then time forgets her
and everything else.
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