Though They May Be

words and poetry and things


Deonte Osayande - “Masks”

"I know why they have trust issues instead of trust funds. No one is banking on their survival."

Performing during his feature at the Soap Boxing Poetry Slam in Saint Paul, MN.

1. When a boy who leaves goosebumps on every inch of your skin tries to play you his favorite song, don’t let him. He’ll get it stuck in your head and under your fingertips and when he leaves, you won’t be able to listen to it without feeling like you’re choking.

2. Don’t let him touch you all over no matter how much you want to feel him against you. Leave a few spots untouched so that when you’re sleeping alone again, at least your left wrist and an inch of your right hip won’t sting with the remaining burn of his mouth.

3. Don’t let him break your ribs.

4. Don’t watch the sunset with him. He’ll poison it. You won’t be able to look at the sky without swallowing a mouthful of him.

5. Don’t mistake wasps for butterflies. Sometimes when you feel your stomach flutter and your hands start to shake it’s pain, not love.

6. Just because he tells you he loves you doesn’t mean he’s going to stay.

7. It’s okay to delete his number after he kisses the pretty girl he met when he was drunk. It’s okay to leave when he hurts you. You don’t have to keep falling into him.

8. When he tells you that you’re beautiful, try to remember that you were beautiful before him too.

9. Just because he reads and smokes cigarettes and talks about the stars doesn’t mean he’s your soulmate.

10. After you kiss him, remember to wash your mouth out right away so he doesn’t burn into your tongue.

11. He’ll kiss you in the rain and take you to little coffee shops. He’ll brush your hair out of your eyes and kiss your nose. He’ll grab your waist and whisper in your ear but six months later you’ll find yourself drunk texting him that you miss him and he won’t respond.

12. Your heart is going to break a million times. It’s going to feel like the world is falling apart around you. Your lungs will stop working some nights. You find yourself grabbing at your bones trying to hold yourself together. You’re going to feel like you’re dying. It’s going to be okay. You’ll find someone else to kiss you goodnight.

—   for future reference (via sleepychick)

(Source: extrasad, via wingedescape)


Sam Sax - “Essay on Crying in Public” (Rustbelt 2014)

"How bad does the news have to be before you get to shoot the messenger? How do you bury the hatchet when it always ends up in my back?"

Sam’s new book, A Guide to Undressing Your Monsters, is NOW AVAILABLE! Check out the book on the Button Website.


What I needed


What I needed

(Source: itsonlyyforever)

What ‘Over It’ Is.


I think about how I used to tell you everything
I think about how long we could talk just you and me
I think about 11 pm and exit signs and glowing orange lights
I think about how you always answered my calls
and I guess thinking about these things in the past tense -
I guess that’s what over it is.

I think about how I started needed reasons
to talk to you at all
I think about waiting
I think about 12 midnight and checking my phone again and again
I think about how many of my calls went to voicemail
and I guess thinking about these things as signs
that I should’ve given up sooner -
I guess that’s what over it is.

I think about how I stopped looking for reasons
to talk to you at all
I think about silence
I think about 2 pm and not checking my phone at all
I think about how many times I could’ve called but didn’t
and I guess thinking about these things as just what I just have to live with
I guess that’s what over it is.

But when I go to bed at night
and the lights go out
I sometimes practice picking up my phone
and pressing it to my ear
like somehow you’d be waiting on the other end
waiting for me to tell you everything you’ve missed
I fall asleep to the sound of silence
and when I wake up in the morning
I go back to thinking about you in the past tense
and pretend that’s what over it is.

(via wingedescape)


Thomas Fucaloro - “When You Sew What You Reap”

"I like when other people judge other people. It keeps the economy going."

A unique poem from our Poetry Observed series.


What winter does to you.It’s too cold in here.


What winter does to you.
It’s too cold in here.

(via wingedescape)

“Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place.”


Iain Thomas

(Source: twloha)

You are 12. You’re at the library looking for some generic young adult fiction novel about a girl who falls for her best friend. Your dad makes a disgusted face. “This is about lesbians,” he says. The word falls out of his mouth as though it pains him. You check out a different book and cry when you get home, but you aren’t sure why. You learn that this is not a story about you, and if it is, you are disgusting.

You are 15. Your relatives are fawning over your cousin’s new boyfriend. “When will you have a boyfriend?” they ask. You shrug. “Maybe she’s one of those lesbians,” your grandpa says. You don’t say anything. You learn that to find love and acceptance from your family, you need a boyfriend who thinks you are worthy of love and acceptance.

You are 18. Your first boyfriend demands to know why you never want to have sex with him. He tells you that sex is normal and healthy. You learn that something is wrong with you.

You are 13. You’re at a pool party with a relative’s friend’s daughter. “There’s this lesbian in my gym class. It’s so gross,” she says. “Ugh, that’s disgusting,” another girl adds. They ask you, “do you have any lesbians at your school?” You tell them no and they say you are lucky. You learn to stay away from people.

You are 20. You have coffee with a girl and you can’t stop thinking about her for days afterwards. You learn the difference between a new friendship and new feelings for a person.

You are 13. Your mom is watching a movie. You see two girls kiss on screen. You feel butterflies and this sense that you identify with the girls on the screen. Your mom gets up and covers the screen. You learn that if you are like those girls, no one wants to see it.

You are 20. You and your friends are drunk and your ex-boyfriend dares you to make out with your friend. You both agree. You touch her face. It feels soft and warm. Her lips are small and her hands feel soft on your back. You learn the difference between being attracted to someone and recognizing that someone you care about is attractive.

You are 16. You find lesbian porn online. Their eyes look dead and their bodies are positioned in a way that you had never imagined. You learn that liking girls is acceptable if straight men can decide the terms.

You are 20. You are lying next to a beautiful girl and talking about everything. You tell her things that you don’t usually tell anyone. You learn how it feels not to want to go to sleep because you don’t want to miss out on any time with someone.

You are 15. Your parents are talking about a celebrity. Your dad has a grin on his face and says, “her girlfriend says that she’s having the best sex of her life with her!” You learn that being a lesbian is about the kind of sex you have and not how you love.

You are 18. You are in intro to women’s and gender studies. “Not all feminists are lesbians- I love my husband! Most of the feminists on our leadership team are straight! It’s just a stereotype,” the professor exclaims. You learn that lesbianism is something to separate yourself from.

You are 21 and you are kissing a beautiful girl and she’s your girlfriend and you understand why people write songs and make movies and stupid facebook statuses about this and time around you just seems to stop and you could spend forever like this and you learn that there is nothing wrong with you and you are falling in love.

You are 21. And you are okay.

—   a thing I wrote after arguing with an insensitive dude on facebook all day or Things Other People Taught me about Liking Girls (via samanticshift)

(Source: thesefirstfewdesperatehours, via fluent-in-lesbianism)

To every wildfire:


To every wildfire sitting still:
To every hurricane in a cage:
To every beam of light, rattling chains:
To every bird
that held those clippers cold, pressed them terrified to quivering wing, and thought,
“I’m not right. I need to learn.
This will be the best thing.”
To you,
with hands folded politely, legs crossed so inoffensive
You’re not crazy
and you’re not

We gather in hoards at every socially acceptable rebellion, travel, shake, breathe rebellious. We can spot that glint in your eye across the latest adrenaline high, and every risk you ever took was just a warning sign. You’re not made to stay the same.
I know the type; no consistency—eight hairstyles in four years. All new piercings, new tattoos, all new goals, new careers. You naturally feel the freedom most people are too afraid to even believe in, but you don’t know how to slow down; you’re a liability in your leaving.
And it’s not like we don’t love, we do.
We love deep and true and full—
But our relationships are like jeans
Eventually they rip at the knees
and through that crack
Sneaks in our dreams.
I’ve heard it described an itch, an urge, an unexplainable need to scream, a hole inside that never fills, a relentless beckon from voices unknown, from places you’ve never seen.
It’s a hundred things to a hundred people, and I may not know your demon by name
But what I do know
Is you won’t sleep at night if you don’t, so when those dice are in your hand
You must roll
What I do know
Is stagnation is your hell, and in a world so unimaginably big
You must grow
What I do know
Is when it itches, when it gapes, when it calls
You must go
What I do know
Is even when it hurts,
you’re not

July 11th, 2014

(Source: everydaygay, via everydaygay)