Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Queer in the bible belt

Mindless chatter flows.....
outta of my homosexual mind

do you hear it?
do you hear the thoughts I be thinkin'?

do you see the images,
that I be poulluting the air with?

On a single day-
my obscenity will cover the smog of LA

but the people still be gaggin'
this not be on Johnny's balls neither
they be gaggin' at my thoughts
my own freedom of expression
my own version of true love
they be gaggin'
at me and my girl
holdin' hands

I could have been born with red hair
and freckles
I could have been born destined
to a 34DD
I could have been born to be
a movie star
I could have been born
wishing for a MBA
I could have been born with
some abnormality-
the only thing worse
for me
would have been to be born-
straight


My Number- Is like this

Liking girls isn't always as convenient
as liking boys
but sometimes it calms the heart
and seems less fragile
cause you both are so soft
you won't have to be wondering
if one of you will break
and the glue
that sticks to your insides
has already poured out

Yeah- I wish for simple things
like the love between two girls
me being one
her one too

but something came in between
the simple thing,
A boy
has screwed our equation
and now it is not equal to love
a boy has fucked
my number- on this occasion


Not A Pretty Girl

I once attempted to write a love poem
and I did write it
but why call it a love poem
I never even gave it to that girl

the girl whose phone number I got,
hung out with once,
smoked some weed with
and then I had decided,
she had made-
a bad impression

forget the fact that she likes Ani
forget the fact that night-
sitting on her couch,
she put in Not A Pretty Girl

hours earlier-
I had thought of buying a bottle of wine
so the two of us would believe-
we were intoxicated on each other

she wasn't even that pretty-
a blond
and I always state the fact loud;
that blonds aren't my type;
I am known to lie

I saw this girl once more
my hair was shorter
maybe she didn' think I was as cute-
as she once had
I did get her new number
I din't use that one either

Bethany Young

Thursday, July 22, 2010

When Morning Comes


As soon as you go inside of me

I’m unplugged from the rest of the world

Nothing even matters

But your breath on mine

I’m thrown into morning

As my body awakes from a dreamer’s death

Resurrected by the early dew

And the aroma of earth

My suspicions of being alive

Unveils itself at that moment

My disoriented mind is sober again

And I take in the day



Outside the window

There is life waiting for me

A force pulling at me to move

Onward from this dark lit room

Next to me he slumbers

Like the night still owned the sky

Sifting through his dreams’

Demands to be a character in its play

He looks peaceful but his body lays reckless

I look at him wondering

If he is as fond of me as he claims

Or am I just a body to sleep next to

A voice to talk to



I wish in his lifeless body

His lips would move me

With truth

With words of adoration

Or even spite

Anything to set my uncertain

Mind at ease

But he is only a man



I make a note to myself

As I look at him once more

I will not fall deeply for him

I fear one day he would

Betray my heart and leave it

For dead

I look through the window

And I’m reminded

That is where I ought to be



My shoes are beneath the bed

I hide them like a shameful parent

The soles have tired and

Their holes grow larger

The day I throw them away

Will be a sad day

But after awhile

You can’t avoid the inevitable

Sometimes you have to throw

Things away

But I slip them on happily

Knowing that day is not today



My leather jacket rests sloppily

On the floor

The only item

I’ve ever bought without regretting

I rush to walk on

To that big white front door

To start over again

Divinity



God is divine

The way he brought you to me

Without so much as a warning

As he placed you before me

Before me you sat unrecognizable

Unimaginable to my mind

You were just another man

Like the ones seated next to you

Suddenly God intervened

And made you so much more to me

At that moment

You were no longer camouflaged

With the many men surrounding you

You filled my eyes with your colors

The way a rainbow paints across

A dull gray sky

You became the only reason to see

No one else mattered

They were saturated with black and white

Never to stand out and illuminate my sight

But your reds and yellows were blinding

Could you be more beautiful

God is divine

How does he decide who will connect with who

And who will feel for who

Maybe it is not for and I to know

But it is amazing

To have no control

And watch god create magic

Between you and a complete stranger

Sunday, May 16, 2010

The inspiration for this prose poem is the way that pop-culture portrays men as being sex machines, while women try to wheedle out sex in the concept that heterosexual sex is still being treated as an economic contract. Women are still being held to the same standards of Victorian sexual codes at the same time that casual sex is supposed to be the norm. The poem is about sex from a female point of view.

Thanks

Every Night

Get it on every night and your man might last one week, no matter how much he says he wants suck or bone. You ain't no nympho, no slut. Men just can't keep up. No bullshit of emotional neglect makes you need it. It's all chemical. It's all the oh. No need attention and feel valued through six minutes of oh baby you're so beautiful, and, yeah yeah you know what I like. If he knew what you liked it would be all night, all bone, all head. It would be chocolate afterward, and steak. It would be all of how eating steak is like eating pussy. He says you've got post-coital glow but what he means is he's glowing. When he thinks he satisfied you he means he satisfied himself, and he'd like to see you in facial porn. He means he's easy and you're hard and he can get it on with anyone, and you? You need it everyday. You need it from him.

Susan Swanton