lgbtq, Uncategorized

LGBT History Month

Looking back, I think one of the most alienating things I struggled with when realising I was queer, was that in the mainstream media there was no one else. Yes, I was inspired by pop-stars clothing choices and related to them in their interests, but there was no gay icons for me to see as… Continue reading LGBT History Month

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Academic work

WE ARE AFRAID

We are afraid of our youth. For those older than us envy it, have already had it, but aren't considered selfish to want a second-go. We are afraid of not ever possibly being home-owners, for that's what those on the news have said, and we must believe them (as we're spoon-fed.) We are afraid of… Continue reading WE ARE AFRAID

Uncategorized

Coordinates

I remember the first time I traced your spine that felt like velvet. Memorised the coordinates of your collarbones with my nervous lip. I remember the laughter, the sweat, that unfamiliar. The glow of your skin, lighting my way home. Your eyes lit up like sparklers in November twilight, and guided me in line with… Continue reading Coordinates

Love, Uncategorized

This Beating Shape

One year encompassed by my heart strung across Paperchase postcards; a tangible copy of my soul, now sat waiting in your College pigeon-hole.   Legs intertwined amongst our make-shift bed of blankets and last night's sweat and lust. With you, lust isn't temporary, lust is sick to my stomach, a comforting nervousness. The way your… Continue reading This Beating Shape

Feminism, Love, Uncategorized

No, I’m Gay (A slam poem)

Hi, my name is Lu- Wait, it's not like you care. You've already made assumptions based on my hair, Both the length on my head and what's down there. For my sex life, my body image is clearly your business, broadcasted news. If you can convince me it's a phase, for it's God's message (well… Continue reading No, I’m Gay (A slam poem)

Love, Uncategorized

She’s

Her eyes are a marble collection of rainbow hues, fabricating past mistrust and apprehension, into a revised perspective.   For she now carries her coat, her mac, her jacket; no longer a protective cape, but kick-ass costume. She’s colour, an orbit of Crayola; strides of smashed kaleidoscope; her glass half-full. Painting her former demons onto a… Continue reading She’s