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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
January 26, 2013
the trans-, the pan- and the asexual. by ~hey-there-blue-eyes
Featured by thorns
Literature Text
i.
They said
He couldn't feel like a boy
And a girl
At the same time.
So he grew his hair long
With colorful dreadlocks
And wore eyeliner
But kept his name.
ii.
They told her that
She could either love boys
Or girls
Or both.
Not everyone.
So she fell in love
With the boy who
Was born as a girl.
iii.
He didn't feel love
For the girl with the large chest.
Or the boy with the sparkling eyes.
But that didn't mean
He didn't love them
In his own way.
If that boy's way of loving is
Invisible,
And the boy with the long hair and eyeliner's way of loving is
Invisible,
And the girl who had a taste for personality, not gender's way of loving is
Invisible
Then aren't we all just
Invisible
Too?
They said
He couldn't feel like a boy
And a girl
At the same time.
So he grew his hair long
With colorful dreadlocks
And wore eyeliner
But kept his name.
ii.
They told her that
She could either love boys
Or girls
Or both.
Not everyone.
So she fell in love
With the boy who
Was born as a girl.
iii.
He didn't feel love
For the girl with the large chest.
Or the boy with the sparkling eyes.
But that didn't mean
He didn't love them
In his own way.
If that boy's way of loving is
Invisible,
And the boy with the long hair and eyeliner's way of loving is
Invisible,
And the girl who had a taste for personality, not gender's way of loving is
Invisible
Then aren't we all just
Invisible
Too?
Literature
Right Hand, Left Hand
I wish
being a lesbian were like
being left-handed.
Whenever someone notices
you writing a cheque
or doodling
or opening a door
And they exclaim:
"You're left-handed?"
I wish it were as simple as that.
When it's funny
and I laugh, panicking.
Such stuff punchlines are made on,
that such a casual,
integral,
part of myself
has the spotlight shone on it,
And revealed (they think)
their own ignorance,
(How wonderful it is to enlighten someone
by being.)
And yet I never hear the questions
that logically spring to mind:
"Won't you have trouble with the gearshift
on a car?"
"How do you use scissors?"
"Can you even write
wi
Literature
Tight jeans and Theatrical boys
I pull up in his dad's driveway
and the boy sitting on the stoop looks like
Saint Exupery's treasured little prince.
When he climbs inside my used Sentra,
I tell him about this quirky realization.
"You're both so cute and opinionated."
He grins and replies that it's his favorite book
to read when life is particularly rough.
Cappuccino sips and playful shoves
convert the evening into something
brilliantly unstable and devastatingly 'teenager'.
I want to kiss him violently, so we can stop this
annoying game of cat and mouse.
But instead, we discuss music
and other topics that make me feel childish.
He asks where I would go if I could
telep
Literature
Why I Laughed at His Funeral
Was dull, as funerals
go.
It was nothing I could help, the sound of it
left me. And in the moving crowd of black
around collars and scarves and
the formless grays of our town
, bowel movement of black,
broken by a laugh, then two, then
a whole cascade. Who is to say
I wasn’t mad from knowing the truth
or wanting to, not knowing enough?
Bobby Sweethouse died
throwing himself off the school roof.
His mother was the first to collect his remains,
ashamed almost to see
all the mess her boy had made.
Many of my friends had said,
he deserved this for being a queer,
or something along those lines, I’m sure
they could pull whatever th
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This is so beautiful