The Flamboyant Bisexual

On a gravel road we drove

Leather digging into my too-short neck

First-time front-line

In booster seat bliss I used to sit

Your words weaving and curling

Back to me, telling stories

Of spoons and dishes

Twinkling star wishes

My green eyes catching

Power lines thick and low

In the summer months

And even greener trees

Heat rising from the road in waves

Against a cerulean sky

Up front, I could see

The leaves even higher

And rivers so blue

But now all I have is a dream

To be back in the passenger seat

Since I’ve moved away

I’ve possessed the key

And your eye doesn’t seem to catch

All that it used to

When your hands are glued

To the steering wheel

And your eyes

To the gravel road

Hey guys! If you'd like to see more of my poetry, I'm much more active over at Writer's Cafe, so come and show me some support!

It's not easy biting your tongue

When your head is strong

Honey badger mind

So when your canines pierce

Stinging against speech

It burns just a little more

Than the blaze fuelled

By the vitriol of orchards

And spring roses planted

Through the years of learning with seasons changing

Only the chicken fears

When your eyes roll back

And you have cut your tongue out

I’m lethargic

Fatigued

That’s what the doctor said

Nothing more, nothing less

I tell my feet to drag further

More than they have this morning

To reflect the past week

The past month, the past year

I urge my back to shoot an ache

One that is “just lethargy”

Not that I want to feel it again

But so he sees the pain on my face

All that emerges is a weak croak

It always does, but is the least of my worries

All that appears from the doctor

Is a light chuckle and an eye roll

I don’t quite catch a glance

Of his pen scribbling across the paper

But I do get a good view of his face

And the smirk that puts a knot in my belly

My feet drag on the way out

But this time, not trying to impress

Only showing the surface

Of the forecasted agony, expected soon

I slump to the couch

My fingers tensing up

Dropping the house keys

There is a bookcase

In the corner of my room

It sits silently, waiting

Holding memories to return soon

I am told to look, not touch

But I can’t help but feel

That I want to know

What it’s like to reveal

Reveal its contents

Books thick and tall

Covers inviting

Waiting for their call

Their call to share

What has been erased

By the people who think

Knowledge is decay

When the shelf is approached

By my marvelling hands

It seems to shiver

Like it knows my plans

The dust feels bitter

And the pages feel cold

But I can sense something else

A longing to be heard

I draw in the dust

And pour over pages

And feel the dirt

That has seen many changes

My head fills with words

And my fingers bathe in ash

I carefully place it back

While my lingering thoughts are soon dashed

I look at my fingers

Riddled with soot

And I stare at the book

Without its familiar look of rot

I cannot replace, nor replenish

The dust gathered on the books and the shelf

Nor the thoughts I once had of perfection and peace

And now I know this isn’t me, how could I be myself?

In this place

Of false hope and manufactured day

Where there are people who think

Purple fingertips

My breath encapsulates them

Clouds came over

Covering the stars

As they didn’t erupt

But simmered away

The lights flickered off

To finally let us rest

And the clouds lowered

To keep us warm

It was morning

With coffee sitting lonely, cold

Curtains shivering, looking for sun to shield

Newspapers never to be read on the drive

Buildings sighed

As rubble trickled down

Their windows blinked in exhaustion

As their bones gave in to rest

The grass swayed in the breeze

Trees rubbing away sleep

Birds sang their usual tune

And the flowers let out a sigh

The sun rose again

But this time, it was different

The air was unburdened

TW: Blood references

You gave me that silken hood

And pulled it tight

Over my head, choking

Air in my throat turned to glass

Grating

Focus on my jugular

Press that boot harder

Squeeze the blood

Watch it drape, splash

Soak the coal carpet, liquid of life

Stomps of a rain dance echo

Watch me gather

Everything left on my bones

Shredded flesh in dress shoes

Take your boot shroud with mud stained red

Gnaw the leather right off

Swallow it whole

Watch it fill my belly

Now I am strong

Tear you down

Teeth like the iron fist

Weave the thread to a rope

My feminine hands practising

What you always wished for

And swing it over the branch

A possum hanging from another

Tilts its head to watch

I’ll take you

Down to the property line

Disturbing dirt with your weak cries

Held at the scruff

You’ll plead and say please

And my ears will lap it up

And my hands won’t stop

When I’ve let the maggots feed

I’ll drag you back up

Grey hair staining green

And feast

Brown-pink meat

Stuck between teeth

Bones left

For the dirt to have a taste

Tell me, clay riddled rock

What’s today’s flavour?

Is it told-you-so

Or reminiscent of forget-me-nots?

The daisies pushing through

"Who do you have left?"

I hear in my ringing ear

"You won

You escaped the fate

Of the rest of them"

Greedy fork

Stabbing at the peas on the plate

I turn the the chair to the left of me

The chair to my right

"How do you do

Carved mahogany,

Or are you cedar?"

I fill my cheeks with supper

To stop my throat from uttering

Words that i should save for later

That might pair better with

The wilted flowers pressed against stone

Wrapped in clear cellophane

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the Earth

And sometime later, He created the gardens

Filled with wildflowers, tall grass

But not here

Here is dirt, thin and breathless

Envious of soil

It does not dream of roots

Nor do the plains

Clouds are here

Cotton white

They can never weep

Just move through the air

The night falls

And smoke lingers

Where constellations should

But were forgotten

Here is my home

It is where I live

It is happy here

As long as you stay

And don’t see the trees

And the rain and the stars

And the grass and the wildflowers

And the joy and the life

That live on somewhere

Flour filled nose

Bread in the air

Sweets line the pantries

To the brim; all full

Never void of light

Never short of colour

Always packed with love

Always full of care

She carefully opens the oven

Letting the smell of home out

Anticipating chaos

Once the sugar fills our bellies

Little fingers wrap around the counter

Eyes peeking over

We wait till they’re cool

And they don’t burn our tongues

The cupcakes of Sunday

Only EVER on Sunday

That’s when we visit

And we all buzz with glee

She offers one to mum

And she politely declines

She silently longs

For one more taste

We stuff our faces

Wasted icing across our cheeks

Giggling, laughing

Running through the yard

Never stopping to think

Or pausing to wonder

How many more cakes?

Bleeding

Dirty girl

Dirty to even think of doing such a thing

Disgusting; daring to shed

What could have cushioned

A baby, smooth and soft

A lump of flesh, feeding and suckling at thy blood

Placenta; nourishing and sweet

Invasive; parasitic

Weaving through lining

To get to me

Die, corpus luteum

Rid me of the flesh

Let me shed

Remind me of my womanhood

Stab daggers into my torso

Shoot them down through my hips

Reach my knees, then up to my stomach

Make me crave; make me cry

Faithful cycle

Keep me on edge

Surprise me, don’t be too punctual

Keep my on my toes

Don’t be too late

Remind me of

The one constant

In my life

Consume me

Just for one week

Put your arms around me

Like more than a best friend

Who is always there

But dirty of me to bleed

Do the one thing

That put the ‘woman’ label unto me

How dare I

Say a word about it

Pause my work for it

What a mild inconvenience

To all the men in the world

If men had a period

Maybe doctors wouldn’t say

“Tsk tsk, stop complaining

It’s only a headache”

Macho influencers

Wouldn’t ask “How many inches”

But “How many millilitres”

“How many days does it take for the hand of God to reach inside of you and tear flesh out of you, chunk by chunk?”

Flexing, boasting

Such a masculine event, something to celebrate in public

But for now I’m dirty, writing from nowhere

Blood through my jeans

Blood on my hands

Both my legs and the staircase groan in unison

As my hand clutches the oak of the banister

It surveys figures trapped in frames;

Faces with stories untold, waiting on something

Resolution.

The mirror nestled among the frames refuses me

But a door ahead greets me;

My hand is inclined.

I am not.

Decision.

A cat in the room greets me with a song,

Its coat matching the white partition

Hiding a bed and a fur rug

Inviting my hand to feel its warmth.

Comfort.

A choking aroma fills my head

The culprit is the candle, and it declines my attention

Although my eyes never meet its flame,

It still burns; no permission.

Rot.

I hurl myself to a place of pure, tiled with a basin

My face is absent, and not for the first time

My nails search for my familiar cheeks

Finding nothing

Despair

In a fit of rage, or perhaps anguish

I ball my fingers into a fist before they meet the glass

Exploding; creating fragments that embed

Faceless, I yelp in a pain that surpasses the substantial

Agony

The basin calls my gaze

And the faucet runs cold

It makes a silent offering

To swallow what I cannot hold

Shards

Then, my face returns, captured in the shower glass

Tear stained cheeks, but this time it’s mine

I let myself grin through my turmoil

I let myself feel whole again

Recognition.

The cat returns, pawing at my wounds

And a candelabra lies, burnt out

Its stiff and spent wax holds a familiar perfume

But I let myself breathe again

Come and join me over on YouTube, I make videos and stuff (starting to make music compilations and rankings and stuff)