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With the many publicized deaths of LGBT youth in the last few months, and countless more that the media isn’t showing us, it’s impossible not to be in a state of grief. One of the ways that I grieve is to write. I wrote this performance piece as something I wish someone would have written for me a long time ago.

Culture, Poetry »

Your third beer is what you’re sipping
You like my ass, you must be tripping
Pretend that you’re too drunk to stand
Ask me to lend a helping hand

Culture, Poetry »

Just how necessary are my polite apologies?

My jaw is tired from keeping the peace

And some days I’m just not sorry.

Culture, Poetry »

Some of the places
In your eyes
Look like they’ve never stopped crying
And I don’t want to stop them
From crying anymore…

Culture, Poetry »

All I know

Is that if I can’t be with you

I will spend the rest of my life looking

For someone who looks



As you do….

Culture, Poetry »

There was a country song on

When I was a young

Boy that, like many do-it-yourself bullshit pop-up McSongs are

On the radio today

Was a list of what the average, everyday

Common man goes through

In his (and I mean his, not hers, mind you)

Long lived life

When lived just right

The chorus declared

From the town square

That you gotta ‘get you some’

Then they’d tell you the what

Culture, Poetry »

They look the same

From far away

Trans and gay

But still you say

That’s not me

You shoot yourself in the foot

Just trying to put

Yourself first

Display the worst

Of the other side’s fight

Trying to break free

Culture, Poetry »


Call to battle-
Left alone in the sea
Watching lover’s disappear

My love

Man to man
Heartfelt embrace
Judged for eternity

Culture, Poetry »


You called your virgin weapon far too short,
and would not show it to me in full light;
but in a darker glow I took your form:
My happy tongue rode up and down its height.

I drank white nectar spurting from your tip
while you, by firing it, broke into sighs,
inviting me to swallow all your thanks,
and rest my head upon your slender thighs.

Culture, Poetry, Uncategorized »

I run to the bathroom close the door and lock it. I take the place in front of the mirror. What I see scares me, I see myself, my own eyes burn through me. Making me bow my head in shame. I turn on the shower as hot as my hand can stand. I again take my place in front of the mirror. Stripping off layers I become exposed and vulnerable. My eyes critique and smolder through me still. I pull back the shower curtain and sit down directly under the water.