Untitled Works #1

 I still think about you sometimes

Far before I accepted myself

you came out.


Yet you were the one who bullied me

Dating the popular girls, calling me the fag. 

I guess it takes one to know one. 


You were my first crush,

Why? 

I guess I didn't know 

how to not hate 

the part of myself 

that liked kissing you.


\\ JT


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The fleeting presence of a songbird is something 

I haven’t taken account of until recently


They come close in full color and sound, and without being noticed - 

gone


Pay attention to the little birds, 

Their song may be the melody 

Your soul needs to hear.


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I ponder meaning as if its something that can be observed,


but simple observation could never reveal the extravagance,


that comes from the subtle voice inside


dictating my purpose.


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Its nice to meet you…

wait we’ve met?

Maybe, but only now are you truly meeting

me

The real me, the me that is done.

done hiding away like a box in the dark reaches of the attic

never to be opened

You’re meeting me, the queer me.

the one who is so over faking heteronormativity so hard he wanted to

escape normal normativity. 

(I wanted to die if you 

didn't catch my drift)


You’re meeting me, the authentic me.

the one who is making their debut into a world who may soon forget them

but doesn’t care


because they’re free


I’ve met you, but only now have you finally met

me.


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my desires have never seemed

conventional

until I saw that convention was a lie

made up by those it served

now I see that we have always

desired the same things

mine just had to be hid under the guise

of “un-natural”


desires are universal, 

only masked by one version being better than the other

leaving me to be left 

drifting alone in the space between


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I dream of being able to obtain

the things that my heart declares as 

normal


but what always gets in the way is 

the thought that normal 

means like everyone else


everyone else 


Why do I fantasize about the unobtainable

normal

when I should realize that normal has a definition 

which can not be obtained

for normal is a word that only holds meaning 

that we give it


And for me,

my normal has never been 

straight


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I want to gaze 

upon the beauty

of the landscape



and not what people have

constructed on it


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we danced and we sang

we loved and we lost

yet blissfully we live on, 

aware of the way the world

in all its beauty takes away 

our breaths, and our thoughts


memories only last a short while

before they become distant, 

fuzzy white noise through which

our older, wiser selves read the lessons

we wrote for them in our youth


how we long to hold onto memory

in its fleeting nature

for its in memory we find 

the meaning

that has been there the whole time


a life that is worth living

simply because it is

\\




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