March 20, 2020

             that maybe you are what it is all for, but it does not last so very long,
             but you will last very long † 

             but you bided your time in silence
             & there were hours for grieving †† 

spectre, you muse, eviscerate 
      speak my name, you enervated...

March 20, 2020


Phyiscal abuse/domestic violence

Gillian Anderson was my Sexual Awakening
I wasn’t so much awake as I was a
groggy kind of confused.
See, the 12 year old reflection of me would wake up still dreaming and wonder                             How can someone be so beautiful?

Well, Dear Younger Me: 
Roses are red 

March 20, 2020

Living in color is a scary thing. 


But listen, that is alright. 

Here, it’s I and I  

Let uncertainty be your guiding light. 

I have no compass. 

I have no map. 

I don’t know the limit of what I can do. 

I don’t know where I am heading. 

I don’t have a particular place in mind. 

But I have no reason to go back. 

Sometimes, the darkness lets us see who we really are.


she, her, hers 

College of Arts & Sciences...

March 20, 2020


That’s all I wish.

For you to hold tightly to the crushed velvet and blood

That calls for you.

Sanguine takes some getting used to,

But you won’t regret it.

Actually, I’m sure you will

Because ragged glass is nestled inside,

Ready to cut if you search too deep.

“Keep at the shallow end,”

That’s what they tell kids who can’t swim

To keep them protected.

But you can drown in an inch of water,

Or love, or blood, or anything that keeps


March 20, 2020

The reason I do this is unclear,

Unclear like our relationship.

It’s murky and dangerous

Waters I can’t navigate.

At least, it is for me.

My lungs feel rotten,

Filled with hate,



For someone I’ll never be 

Enough for.

Enough; a tricky word.

It says everything

Yet remains unheard

Because Enough for you,

isn’t me.

I can rip myself to shreds

away with my fat, my hair, my skin

everything that

isn’t to your liking.

I want to be clear; simply...

March 20, 2020

Persecuted desires in pitch black 
    play pretend-dance 
on tables teetering toward 


viewed through pin-holes 
    wait, no, I’m sorry, bullet-holes 
into the love now wounded because of 
    bold, brave men and women 
compelled to glance, not at each 
other, nor the same other, 
    but toward the soft 

March 20, 2020

America has a ban on consciousness, 

and we love it.

We are not a proud kind.

We sacralize death but refuse to acknowledge our own morbidity.

We think if we use chronic codenames and sing la di da

under our proverbial mango tree that we’ll forget that

our words taste of vomitspit.

We put down our coffee and pick up our needle whenever we

feel the grinning, thin-lipped faces of our mistakes gnawing away at our sanity.

Our politicians ki...

March 20, 2020

I used to lie in my bed and stare up into the abyss 
of solitude as I wondered why God hated me. 
I would spring up after hours of attempted sleep, 
feeling the tears cascade down the sides 
of my freckled cheeks.
Why me? 

My rib cage would expand, shrink,
expand, shrink, faster faster hyperventilating 
from the fantasies that played on and on,
an everlasting movie in my head 
until the intrusive thoughts consumed all the energ...

March 20, 2020

“Tonight, I just want to hold you,” he said; so, that’s 
what we did. I slept inside his built arms, he slept 
in mine. The light peeking through the white 
curtains woke first me, then he. 

The birds chirped. His muscular body 
pressed up against me. My hand rested 
on the small of his back, his on my hip. 
I smiled at his beauty. 

His ebony eyes, eyebrows, and hair accentuated 
his rosy lips. Stunning. Awake now, his neck 

March 20, 2020

On the Sunday morning that the two of us spent 

lying on my dorm room bed, 

the harsh sound of rain was constant 

and pierced the noises being made in the common hall. 

I had my computer resting on my lap 

while my fingers leisurely circled the keyboard, 

still taking breaks to watch you sleep. 

My favorite mug filled with caramel espresso 

sat at my bedside, waiting to be picked up. 

The drowsy weather made the room a shade of grey,


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©2020 Q* Anthology of Queer Culture

An independent student publication in the Charlottesville and U.Va. community