Coincidence.

 You hate what I love.

You hate what I eat.

You hate what I read.

You hate what I do.

You hate music I like.

You hate movies I watch.

You hate what I...

It's so specific... isn't it?

It can't be coincidence,

that you just so happen to hate

everything about me,

if you don't actually hate me?

After a while I can't help but think.

It it the food or the books?

Or is it just me?

Do you hate me?

And hey, that's fine.

After all this time,

and the way you behave,

I'm neither here nor there,

as far as you're concerned.

But at least be honest.

-o0o-

Cry, Boy, Cry

I wasn't expecting them to publish this poem. So I took it down from here and you can read it over at Poetry Potion

Me and my body

the people who are the most loud

about me and my body

the people who are most critical

of me and my body

the people who tell me to be ashamed

of me and my body

the people who deny me autonomy

of my and my body

are always the same people who want access

to me and my body without my consent

-o0o-

Polyhymnia would be so proud

It took one tragedy too many,

to rob me of poetry,

It was the final stone in my windshield,

that left me in pieces so many;

strewn across four years of asphalt,

that I have to walk back on,

and pick up the words as I go.

I've left a few words along the way,

"Sorry,

I got in the way of you hurting me."

"Sorry,

I'm not who you want me to be."

"Sorry,

I didn't accept your hate."

"Sorry,

I was so angry at your nonsense."

"Sorry."

"Sorry."

"Sorry."

I left that word behind and

picked up a few old golden nuggets.

"Fuck off" is a choice phrase that I found,

re-entering my everyday lexicon.

Sometimes spoken.

Sometimes just a thought behind a smile.

-o0o-