When Monica grabbed Bill

By Kurt Bagayao

Snoring your way to your much-anticipated REM.

Hoping you could catch on your dreams with the sun as your emblem.

Numbers and letters on the glass, scribbled and decoded for your viewing pleasure.

Leaving "Aha!" moments leaving a wide grin on your face like a caricature.

Metamorphosis

By Invictus

How do you murder a butterfly in its metamorphosis?  

Squash the egg?

Splatter the caterpillar’s blood on the ground?

Crack the cocoon open?

Rip the wings off of a butterfly?

Monstrosity will never run out of ways!

This is not fiction. There are unborn babies whose future parents have unapologetically declared on Twitter they’d kill their children at the first sign of gay buoyancy.

Two years ago, Zachary Dutro, age 4, was murdered by his own mother believing he was queer. 

In this picture, his intestines hadn’t been torn open yet.

And it would be months before liquid leaked out from his damaged bowels.

A few months ago, Billy Lucas, age 15, was bullied to death.

Frenetic in his attempt to escape from his tormentors, he hanged himself in their barn.

Two years ago, Elvin Gonzalvo, age 21, was led by his father’s homophobic words to believe he was better off dead, so his body was found dangling in that dungeon of a home.

SAID THE FOX (as inspired by my favorite story, The Little Prince)

By Beth

The Little Prince and the Fox (c) Harcourt, Brace, & Co.

I am not like the Little Prince’s Flower

Protected in her glass globe which she demanded.

She pretends to cough and sneeze so that she will be pitied

Somehow, I find that  irritating.

I run away from anything that comes close.

I am often feared but nonetheless hunted

And I can be as contradictory as the man who fears me yet hunts me.

Do I want to be killed by my seeker?

Of course not. I do not think I run toward my death.

I run toward a home…

So… maybe I can be tamed?

Yes I may cower as a hand stretches out to me

And I cringe at the slightest touch

But I am tired of running…

And you… you calm me down…

Dear Girl

By Invictus

Photo by: http://www.lovethispic.com/profile/Bill

Girl, you have been drinking dew from leaves

believing it would quench your thirst for morning cuddles.

Convinced that the world is a wide winter bed,

you hike the wilderness alone seeking for a campfire.

Girl, why have you tied your worth to a dying tree?

But that doesn’t matter now, does it? The question

 you should be more concerned with is which one

is better off cut, the tree or your wrists?

Once Upon a Someday

By Beth

I was going over a pile of my stories
And I chanced upon a fairy tale
But the final chapter was missing
Not written yet… maybe someday.

Visited the playground for some release
But there were too many who joined the game
Wondered when will there be room for me
No vacancy yet… maybe someday.

Checked the box for some letters
But nothing was in the mail
Nothing that I was searching for.
Unconstructed yet…maybe someday.

Walked into a room of music
But all your songs were in play
They still stab at my fragile heart
Not callous yet… maybe someday.

All I have now are questions
When everyone said “leave”, I stayed
And when I said I’d stay, I moved
No explanations yet…maybe someday

That’s all I possess…
Now that all convictions are astray
Now that there is nothing definite
All I have …are so many somedays