just some feels

I love you if you're homosexual.

I love you if you're a lesbian.

I love you if you're bisexual.

I love you if you're pansexual.

I love you if you're asexual.

I love you if you're demisexual.

I love you if you're transgender.

I love you if you're non-binary.

I love you if you're queer.

I love you if you're polysexual.

I love you if you're polyamorous.

I love you if you're androgynous.

I love you if you're agender.

I love you if you're bigender.

I love you if you're intersex.

I love you if you're aromantic.

I love you if you're homoflexible.

I love you if you're genderqueer.

I love you if you're genderfluid.

I love you if you're omnisexual.

I love you if you're a demiboy.

I love you if you're a demigirl.

I love you if you're greysexual.

Your late teens/20s are a weird time in your life. Don’t panic if you think somebody is more “ahead” than you. The concept of being ahead is nonexistent anyway because life’s not a race and each person has different hurdles to overcome.

It’s totally fine if you’re single. It’s fine if you’re still finishing school. It’s fine if you are still looking for a better job, or for any job at all. It’s fine if you haven’t had sex yet, or haven’t gotten your driver license yet. It’s fine if you haven’t gotten your own place yet. It’s fine if you are still figuring things out, saving money, putting the pieces together. It’s fine.

Don’t feel jealous of or lesser than people your age who have done these things. You don’t know what obstacles they faced to get there and they don’t know what you’ve faced. Don’t undermine the progess you have made.

Because, trust me, you have made progress. Even if it hasn’t materialized yet in the traditional way.

You are still young. Like really young.

Beauty is something

I rarely see in the mirror.

What I see

is my reflection,

laced with self consciousness,

insecurity, and discomfort.

I avert my eyes

from my reflection.

I don’t want to know her.

She is my sun;

I can barely ever see her

and only then, it is through squinted eyes.

I think I know what she looks like,

until I look again

and I find that my memory faltered.

Like the weather,

she is always changing.

Some days, she is luminous,

I can feel the happiness beaming

through my reflection in the mirror.

On others, she is rainy,

and her sadness forms stormy clouds around her.

Most days, lack of sleep

carves dark circles under her eyes.

I see more beauty

in a passing stranger

than I have in the mirror

in what feels like forever.

Nevertheless,

beauty is in my bones.

It’s in yours too.

The blood, flesh and beauty

of my ancestors

has been passed on to me,

even if I can’t see that in the mirror

just yet,

I know it’s there.

And while beauty

may be something that I rarely see in the mirror,

I know that I possess it,

and for now, that’s enough for me.

And for now, that is self love.

Her.

She is..

She was..

She’ll always be..

.. beautiful.

Her laugh is written all over my daydreams.

I’m drawn to and from her like a tide.

Senseless.

Why can’t I just come to my senses?

I have eyes to see that she’s not interested.

But all I can see is the beauty of mixed heritage that’s written all over her face,

the crinkle of her eyes when she laughs,

her smile.

I have ears to listen,

to pick up on all of the signals that aren’t showing up on my gaydar.

Because she’s not gay.

But all I want to listen to is the sound of her laughter,

of that beautiful voice.

I have a mouth, don’t I?

So why can’t I use it to talk to her?

So that I can actually say these things out loud,

rather than writing them on a page.

But still, those three words would lay dormant on my tongue: “I like you”

or, just two: “I’m sorry”.

All of these senses, yet I’m too senseless 

to do anything other than internalise these feelings I have for her.

I’ll just close the big old, heavy metal door 

to the vault of hidden feelings with her tucked neatly inside.

She knows, anyway.

She’s known for months.

Because I just couldn’t keep my stupid mouth shut just this once.

Maybe I should get better friends, 

ones who know what a secret is,

and how to keep one when it isn’t theirs.

Ones who don’t just open up the closet door

to out me to whoever they please.

But, there’s still that part of me,

that same, senseless, starry-eyed, self deluded part of me

and it just..

it wants to..

it has to..

it needs to..

know..

her.

            - m.s

that told me:

that being gay is a choice.

As if I would choose

to be alienated from my family or,

as if I would choose

to be bullied for who I love or,

as if I would choose

to feel ashamed of who I am.

I never understood

because if I could choose

I wouldn’t choose that.

I am drowning in my lies. Forbidden fruit, guilty pleasure, and skeleton in the closet. I am the dirt in your mind, the flash in your eyes, and the scuff on your shoe. You try to hide me, but I always peek through. I am ugly, I am evil, I am queer.

She is swimming in purest truth. The flow of the river, the composer of music, and the blue in the sky. She is passion, she is fire, she is love. I try to fake it, but it shows. Everything I am, she is not.

I am drowning in my lies. Calling out for help, wanting love, and starving myself. The undeserving, the foolish, and the broken. I am undesired, unloved, and unneeded. I love her, she does not love me.

second best.”