Mental health, Buddhist teachings, and Lesbian poetry I hid in the depths of my soul for 20+ years.
[Alternative Title: I wish there was a plural male pronoun.]
Their lips were different than hers.
All lips had the same eagerness and desire,
Except mine when they didn’t meet hers.
Her lips were different than theirs.
She met me where I was,
Not devouring past the moment.
After her lips,
Their lips were distant memories.
More Lesbian Poetry:
Looks of longing
Never touching
Always feeling
Fear superseding
—
Pain connect us
Past generations hear us
Sappho
E. Dickenson
A. Lorde
Their words repeat back to us
Ringing true in our ears
—
How long must it last,
An artform taken from despair?
One day all Sapphics won’t be poets,
But all poetry is Sapphic
Mindfully Messy 