Poetry

Poetry

We are Acceptance
My body is seen as poronrgraphic .  My body is censored.   My body is read as woman, They will kill me for it.  My body is read as black, They will kill me for it.  I am trans.  They will kill me for it.  I made of stories and hopes. I am made of loving bones.  I am made of truth,   I am unknown to you.  I am unknown to myself.  I am prisms of light.  I wear no disguise.  I wear no shield.  My armour is love. It is how I heal.   It is my home.  It is my truth.  In my body,  I am bloom.  I am fruit.  I am new. 
Forbidden Fruit
I like nothing-  Other than you.    Your tender skin- Peeled into a crunch.    Savouring love.    Your flesh ingrained with delicious desire.    Wetting my lips Bending my neck,  I bite.  Your flavour sinks into my life,  Seizing my mind,  With your fragrant ties You take me over- I beg for nothing-  Other than you-  Your rebirth.  Your fruit.         Photography by Jon Sailor 
Pride
Pride.  I am not a child of pride. Nothing to see.   I am not a child of pride. Nothing to bleed.   I am not a child of pride. Nothing to know.   I am not a child of pride. Nothing to grow.   I place a seed in my hand, Cocooning my head in the sand.   The wind pushes me away. I fall into the tides. Chasing the seed in the chaos of its wake.   I am not a child of pride. No motion to follow. No mountain to climb. No hill to conquer.    Time. My mother laid me down-                                         Taking my hand and tucking me tight.                                             Uttering words that haunt me every night. Do not worry child- There are no monsters under your bed No monsters that will chew your bones. Only monsters that won’t accept no. I am not a child of pride.   I am not a child, You see.   I am a message, conceived. I am a tradition, untold. I am culture, with no home   Bloody hands, sink into the ocean.   Shedding into hydrotropic weavings,   Sieving. Dreaming.    For the seed.   That held the togetherness Of the land, I wish to breathe.   Photography by Darius Iromlou  
Confession. No1
Confessional piece. On loving and trying to find space to understand.
I ATE MYSELF
A poem affirming the knowledge on our beautiful disease. Being alive, in a discarding and scary time.
Alone.
You feel pleasant. Pleasantly strange. Foreign, in all the imaginable ways, Isolation and regret Lace your fingertips. You tell me you like me like this. Alone.     You like, alone. You like to have me, to yourself. How lucky I am. How fortune, I am. To have someone like you.     ii. I like you. The forest of you. The danger you entail. It smells, Familiar. Childish giggles stich my lips together. Closed, frames create fences. You prevail. Climbing over me with your broad claws, Ripping my form. I have nothing left.     You ignore me.     I like it rough.   Fight more.   I am in submission. Obey.     It’s a game.   Winner takes all. I am used to this call. I thought she was different. I thought she could see, I wanted it to be her and me.   I bow to her will, Fear used, Like a wheel. Rolling me into     Weak.     I kiss her flesh. Her meat is a smell, not a taste. It reminds me of early days. When I still sulked on her tit, Feeding her mould. She bends my bones, She stands alone, I know she is afraid, To afraid to say, She knows no other game. Except pain.       Photography by Ari Richter
Eve’s Love Letter
When you have nothing left to give, what do you show? Photography by ndidi iroh
Quebrar e a chance de Reconstruir
An erasure poem grounded in the words of a beautiful soul that I met in the mountains of Italy.
Three words
I need you. I want you. I love you. Photography by ndidi iroh
Fortitudes of Woman
A poem about finding your voice.
A Fruitful Disease
A poem inspired by a dear friend and a beautiful artist. Picture: Cassi Josh
Smiles Guaranteed
A poem about one of the finest momentary pleasures we can experience. Art work by @_lumchen_