the same mirror that watched me try on my mother's lipstick at seven practice kissing my own hand at thirteen cry over breakups
By A.O8 months ago in Pride
sorry was the first word out of my mouth every morning sorry for being here sorry for breathing too loud sorry for needing the bathroom
the black hefty bag sat in the corner of my closet for three years two months and sixteen days but who's counting right?
my mother kept the magazine clippings in a shoebox under her bed princess sleeves and cathedral trains flowing like water down chapel aisles
the first time i heard myself on a recording i wanted to disappear that voice high and thin like glass breaking was supposed to be mine
i practiced it in the mirror for months rolling the syllables around my tongue like a prayer i was afraid to say out loud
THE PERFECT DAY (a poem) She waits crowned in bridal illusion under glowing cobalt fruit, twigs ribboned together beneath cotton-colored clouds.
By Alison McBain8 months ago in Pride
Tate watched as her friends, Sam and Cat, in the seats next to her, in the dark close the distance between their hands, it was profound. And something was awakening inside of Tate, changing her.
By Lore S. Crown 8 months ago in Pride
I spoke to my Dad last night While he dressed the salad with balsamic vinegar And salted the schnitzels how my Mum likes them.
By Ruby Red8 months ago in Pride
Where is the rainbow sheep Who was sent from the golden heavens? Where is the rainbow sheep Who would comfort the ones that fear?
Layered like an onion skin, What if something is missing? Unknown and "too young" My own thoughts crammed up inside my stomach
1. It starts in a club, as so many crucifixions do. - Seven years ago, today. Neon spills on my chest like fake blood. My wife—full lesbian, full moon—orders something tart, something red.
By Iris Obscura8 months ago in Pride
