Why I Refused to be LGBTQ+ in Texas

Because I was a “fag” for being a “feminist Bernie cocksucker.”

Because I was a “flaming pussy” for wearing yellow shoes.

Because I was only valedictorian due to having “zero friends.”

Because I was told I get “no pussy” solely for posting art on Insta.

Because I was a “gay nigger-lover” for loving Frank Ocean & Moonlight.

Because, while these were the ones I wrote down, I heard worse.

Because, due to this relentless bullying, I was desperate to be straight.


Sorry for the vulgarity; I wanted you to see what it was actually like.

What it was like dealing with the worst of the worst racists in suburban Texas a year ago (only lived here due to my dad’s oil fields).

I wanted you to know why I refused to be gay (Trump helped too).

I hope it was eye-opening. I hope it was inspiring—that I persevered the hell, the existential crises, the bipolar disorder mania, & anxiety.

Thank you for reading. Please like, follow, share, etc. if you can. ❤

Why “The Gay Poet”?

First of all, my poetry is so gay

that it will teleport you to a day

in my dreams of queertopian play

where we stare into each other’s eyes

under the big, beautiful, baby blue skies

while literally rubbing each other’s thighs.

 

But I’m not a gay poet; I don’t wear your labels.

they are just petty words that divide us,

as well as self-fulfilling prophesies.

I am neither a gay person

nor a poet person.

I am just… a

person.

 

So,

I suppose

we are in a bit

of a moral quandary,

maybe some paradoxical irony,

and that’s why I chose this name for thee.

The Hardest Thing I Have Ever Done

Pt. 1

Getting accepted into Harvard was the

second hardest thing I’ve ever done.

I do recall hearing in my interview

that my ACT score wasn’t “pivotal”

—bitch, I got a PERFECT SCORE

(check my cover for proof)—

and thinking: “Wow, they

aren’t even impressed

with perfection

now…”

Now,

I continue

to see the means

of the process vindicated.

I mean, didn’t you wonder why

I almost killed myself last week?

Or why I post on this blog so late?

I don’t eat, sleep, etc I just do work.

This semester was the second hardest.


Pt. 2

 So let me tell you beautiful people as I

start exam week here in this state (my

mental state being fragile, while my

geographical state, Massachusetts,

is cold as hell—and it’s snowing):

My mental health is at a LOW.

Thus, more importantly,

let me say that…

you are NOT

alone.


Pt. 3

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Your Trump Trash Talk Sucks

Even if Donald Trump were the nicest, most LGBTQ+ friendly, least sexist, and least racist presidents in American history, he’d still easily be one of the worst.

So please stop talking about identity politics to his supporters; it’s not effective. Talk about his terrible economic policies. Talk about how he’s filling, not draining, “The Swamp.” Talk about how he’s our worst diplomat ever. Talk about how he’s nothing more than a corrupt, low-IQ, pro-establishment neocon politician. The list goes on.


Trump fans: Please give me

even just one good thing

you think he has done.

done, and I

will happily

obliterate your

argument piece-by-piece.

Peace.

 

I Dream

I dream of a world wherein

gays aren’t suppressed, oppressed, or hence depressed.

I dream of a world wherein

sexuality isn’t relevant to politics, religion, or social issues.

I dream of a world wherein

“identity politics” and “LGBTQ rights” are obsolete terms.

I dream of a world wherein

we aren’t divided by arbitrary, socially constructed labels.

The First 25 Minutes

You may

call me your bae,

though you must know right away

that i was seconds from death just yesterday.

But before i swallowed the pills, i realized that i am gay.

Then i made this site 25 minutes later to play

with the many things i have to say.

Don’t lead yourself astray.

Follow me today.

 

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