vegan queer

All i want is to meet a girl that i can travel the world with. Who is happy to stay in hostels, eat cheap vegan food and spend hours exploring new cities and towns. 

I'm a hopeless romantic

You hold your paint brushes
like a heart holds a soul.
Each fine hair on the handle
somehow makes you whole.

Green and yellow and blue and grey
midday,
your name stretches across my lips like a two-syllable Irish dancer
And wiggles between my teeth.
your name splatters upon every canvas,
in the ashes of every ashtray.
Hey,
Can I see the insides of your soul?

Two orders:
A black coffee and a mocha with whipped cream.
A dream,
I asked for chocolate sprinkles
to match the freckles on your nose.
You make me feel like coffee tastes.
like wiggling toes
and hand-me-down clothes.
without control-
can I see the insides of your soul?

Gazing at your face directly in the sun
may be the best thing that I’ve ever done,
because your watermelon wedge smile
makes my body tingle.
makes my heart concave
and I thought I was brave
until you made me stand on stilts.

And:
the hopeless romantic has hope.
may the mystery of your soul be a legend-
finger cuts and hand soap.
I’ll pack away your supplies,
whilst packing away mine:
your paint brushes and my storyline.
You won’t answer,
so ill play our song.
I’ll call-
and you won’t respond.
And I’ll hope that the next time my heart runs away with me,
next time,
there will be someone willing to come along.

Two girls can fall in love

Teensy hands cup my curious eyes,
I am young and full of wonder.
At the blissful age of five.

This is when the freak show started,
God made a joke and
that joke was me.
But what kind of God would mess with a child of five
and tell her that although you see the Big Bang in a pretty girl’s eyes,
You should only ever fall for:
guys.

I buried my feelings in a grave labelled guilt-
And then I was eight.
Too young to contemplate,
the thoughts of my wedding day
not being the same
as the ones you see on reality TV.

Eleven.
My gaze at the eyelash on her cheek lingered too long.
Twelve.
These thoughts are wrong.
Thirteen.
God isn’t real, or he’s sick for creating me like this.
Fourteen.
Her cheeks are the only cheeks I want to kiss.
Fifteen.
Rainbows burst through the floorboards, march their way up the stairs and yell in my face:
“Acknowledge the stares, it’s just a girl”
It’s just a girl.
You are worthy of love.

Sixteen.
There has been a hell of a storm.
Dig up the grave, dust off your feelings and leave only red flowers in remembrance.
In remembrance of the time that you hated God because he hated you.
Of the time you would flick your wrist, when you thought of her lips.
Of the time when boys would temporarily fill the whole in your chest.
Of the time you thought that two girls could not fall in love-
could not hold each other,
and could not whisper the sound of forever into the silent night.

Teensy hands cup my curious eyes,
I am young and full of wonder.
At the blissful age of five.
If only I knew then, what I know now.