each shelf filled with tales
of women lazily touching
each other’s thighs and forearms
with soft wandering fingers
in motel rooms and army barracks,
kisses hidden in shadowed moments,
hands held under the covers where
no one could see,
side glances in public spaces,
gentle hands cupping breasts late at night
with slow and gentle movements,
climaxes filled with women
screaming women’s names
and institutionalizations and suicides
because they used to say
no woman could be both
homosexual and happy

 

Day 7 of Na/GloPoWriMo

Once the government said you couldn’t publish gay porn because it would make readers gay. Maybe I read too much lesbian fanfiction growing up and that’s why I ended up gay. Or it could just be I was born this way, you know. I’ve been spending way too much money at this bookstore, buying as many books from this pulp fiction section as possible. Just to save them and to remember how things once were and how far we’ve come.

I’m not sure if I’m done with this poem. The end doesn’t feel quite there. Perhaps I need to add myself into the poem, an interaction with the books. But I also feel like it doesn’t need me in it. Hmmm. Thoughts for another day. Just glad I’m getting this up even if I’m not satisfied with it. Yay for posting drafts!

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