Physical
Blood drips down pale cheek. Hate shines bright in angry red. A crime against love, life and lust. You have to feel pain, for others don’t understand. There they sit, oblivious to your trauma. For this attack is not the first. Not the last. But a constant. This time just happened to be physical.
Social Media: Hatred’s Magnifying Glass
In a world where hate seems so prevalent, why is it I don’t experience this pain in real life? The words faggot, and bitch, next to racial slurs in a comment section, written by profiles which refuse to house a face. Each word is like a punch to the gut. I can’t breath, I choke…
‘Tyler’s Poem’
Blinding lights guide me to fabricated happiness, daylights trauma momentarily numbed. Years of broken memories await me, hours of fun a worthy exchange. It’s the nights of ecstasy that calms my nerves, troubled womb an uninhabitable cavern. It is to think what it means to breathe, the latter easier with the former subdued. I find…
Ryan Peter Anderson
‘Do you remember how we met?’ I mutter, the side of my lips curling upwards as I watch a small cloud pass overhead, the pure blue sky blurring the edge of the often unappreciated spectacle. The sun shines overbearingly behind it, only adding to its impossible beauty. Rays of golden sunlight hug my body, a…
Writings Of A Queer Mind 