Reclaiming the F Word

My mother sent me a text today
about the explosive F Bomb in my Facebook status.
You majored in English,
you’re better than that

Fuck, mom.
The word is fuck.

Fuck, a word deemed vulgar,
classless, unwelcome in society,

Fuck and I have a lot in common.

It wasn’t so long ago
that I was demonized,
told by society that I am less
than the other words in the sentence,
unnnatural, causing trouble,
acting out.

You say fuck is lazy,
it makes me less
because it doesn’t fit
into society’s puzzle.

But fuck is a gut punch,
it’s fierce and strong
and all the things you taught me to be,

I think fuck is beautiful.
Fuck is the exasperated voice
of struggle
Fuck is a fight
against the odds
Fuck is challenging authority,
saying that society does not define me
that I am perfect the way I am
in my flawed, homosexual skin.

Restrain yourself,
don’t use such language.
Release yourself,
be bold and brazen.

Fuck the norm.
Fuck the people
who say your life is worth less
because it’s not a pretty package.
Fuck the wars
and the politicians sending us to them.
Fuck the violence and the hatred,
throw all the weight off your shoulders
to the ground.
Don’t let them resign you
to a bad taste in the mouth
that can be removed with a bar of soap.

Because you’re not just a pretty word,
you’re fucking beautiful.

Reclaiming the F Word

“Refugees Stranded As Borders Close And Nations Crack Down”

“You are not welcome here” you tell me,
kneading the thread of my fate in your cold, rough hands.
I bow my head in silent defeat,
accepting that I am not yet home.
I may never be home.

I have looked hell in the face –
its strikingly human face.
My soul-wrenching hope for survival has led me to your door
and now it will lead me away.

Do you know the subtleties of a heartbeat?
in fear
in fatigue
in hunger
in pain
in restlessness
in courage
in hope

You know that my human heart beats just like yours,
pushing blood through my veins just like yours.

I know better.

Even our humanity can’t connect us –
after all,
that’s why you find it so easy
to say goodbye.

“Refugees Stranded As Borders Close And Nations Crack Down”

“Target going gender neutral in some sections”

What does it mean to be he?
Firetrucks, race cars, tool sets –
can he have a tea party?
What if he wants a Barbie for his GI Joe to save?
What if he needs a Barbie to save his GI Joe?
What does it mean to be she?
Baby dolls, aprons, dress up clothes –
can she throw a football?
What if she wants a hammer to fix her baby’s boo-boo?

Can he be a fashionista?
Can she be a doctor?
Can they live the life they want?

What does it mean to be human?

“Target going gender neutral in some sections”

[The World’s Roots] 011.

I am a plotted plant today.
A sunflower, I think.
I am looking at a sky that is the color blue
of faded years.
The sun is bright white, and it hurts to stare at.
But I’m a plotted plant, so I stare anyway.
The sun beams infiltrate my eyes.
They race through my veins.
I’ve never felt a pain this good.
I spread out my roots in the soil,
I arch my back and welcome the view.
Today, I’m a plotted plant.
But tomorrow —
tomorrow I think I’ll be the sun.

[The World’s Roots] 011.

New project!

I’ve posted some poems here that focus on the LGBT experience, so I wanted to share one of my recent projects.


I recently went to Pride in my area and was so inspired that I created this shirt. It is a custom design, and it is only on sale for 7 days. So if you like the shirt, please go buy one and share it with your friends!

Thank you all for your love and support!

New project!

[Of love] 020.

We are all the colors
of the rainbow.
They spew hate like a thunderstorm,
their curses ring like thunder
and their glares blinding as lightning.

You take my hand and smile.
After all, you always say,
you can’t have a rainbow
without some rain.

[Of love] 020.