Prize Poetry

We Kiss Our Pens to Paper

by a young woman age 14

 
I KISS MY PEN TO PAPER

I kiss my pen to my paper
 
With the tears
 
Of a fifteen-year-old.
 
I look up at the sky scrapers
 
Watching the way they tilt over me
 
And hold me down.
 
I love the way their eyes touched
 
Like they were meant for
 
Something greater than themselves.
 
I listen to the people
 
Reading their hearts
 
That they have thrown onto a piece of paper.
 
 
 
I understood the reason why my parents got divorced
 
And the way that they loved each other
 
But how they don’t anymore.
 
What I don’t understand
 
Is how they can love
 
One another
 
But silently tell me that
 
They’re against me being not gay, but not straight.
 
I am bisexual
 
And the fact that I can’t bring home a girl
 
And get the same happy smile as I would if I brought home a boy
 
scares me.
 
Why would my mom care who I loved?
 
Because if I loved a her or a him
 
she only cares about the gender, not the smile that I have
 
When I talk about them.
 
How do I tell her?
 
 
 
How come I feel the weight of hate more from my mother
 
than the society that is so “hateful”?
 
Tell me how come I don’t want to go to church anymore
 
Because I can’t be in a place like that
 
When I know they’ll all hate me
 
When MY god says ‘Love your neighbor’?
 
Yeah, He’s my god.
 
 
 
Or, I don’t know.
 
What do I say to that?
 
Tell me how come
 
My depression makes my chest deflate
 
And feel like it will never rise again.
 
How come my eyes bleed the tears
 
That my mother swiped away?
 
How come I don’t cry anymore?
 
How come I don’t cry to my mother anymore?
 
How come I feel safer around strangers
 
Than my own family?
 
How come I’ve never told my mother
 
That I am not straight?
 
How come I can’t answer these questions that my head comes up with?

 
I KISS MY PEN TO PAPER

I kiss my pen to my paper
 
With the tears
 
Of a fifteen-year-old.
 
I look up at the sky scrapers
 
Watching the way they tilt over me
 
And hold me down.
 
I love the way their eyes touched
 
Like they were meant for
 
Something greater than themselves.
 
I listen to the people
 
Reading their hearts
 
That they have thrown onto a piece of paper.
 
 
 
I understood the reason why my parents got divorced
 
And the way that they loved each other
 
But how they don’t anymore.
 
What I don’t understand
 
Is how they can love
 
One another
 
But silently tell me that
 
They’re against me being not gay, but not straight.
 
I am bisexual
 
And the fact that I can’t bring home a girl
 
And get the same happy smile as I would if I brought home a boy
 
scares me.
 
Why would my mom care who I loved?
 
Because if I loved a her or a him
 
she only cares about the gender, not the smile that I have
 
When I talk about them.
 
How do I tell her?
 
 
 
How come I feel the weight of hate more from my mother
 
than the society that is so “hateful”?
 
Tell me how come I don’t want to go to church anymore
 
Because I can’t be in a place like that
 
When I know they’ll all hate me
 
When MY god says ‘Love your neighbor’?
 
Yeah, He’s my god.
 
 
 
Or, I don’t know.
 
What do I say to that?
 
Tell me how come
 
My depression makes my chest deflate
 
And feel like it will never rise again.
 
How come my eyes bleed the tears
 
That my mother swiped away?
 
How come I don’t cry anymore?
 
How come I don’t cry to my mother anymore?
 
How come I feel safer around strangers
 
Than my own family?
 
How come I’ve never told my mother
 
That I am not straight?
 
How come I can’t answer these questions that my head comes up with?