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#lesbian poetry
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Call it a sin if you'd like
In a room whose walls are decorated with painted flowers,
Lies two girls, in their own stage of blooming, on a queen-sized bed
The scent of vanilla and honey is overwhelming if you step inside
Enough to make an adult feel sick
The girl with longer hair keeps her eyes closed, not knowing if she's doing it right
Not if what she's doing is right
But the girl with shorter hair breaks the kiss too quickly
“You don't like it?” asks the other
“I do…” she replies
“Then, can we..?”
She mimics what’s she’s seen on TV, except she’s never imagined doing it with a boy
Outside, they'll be what they're told to be
But inside, in the comfort of a pretend home,
No one can tell them that they’re too young to know
They can live freely, away from disgusted eyes and mouths that scream this is unclean
What's pure love anyways?
If not two girls, leaving sweet promises on each other's skin?
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identifiedbutflying · 10 months
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i imagine the butches’ stripper bar - jill mcdonough
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smolbeanxoxo · 1 year
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I live for the affection.
Stroking my hair? Yes. Rubbing my hand with your thumb? Yes please. Side hug around my waist while walking? Omg yes. Washing my hair, cooking for me, calling me nicknames? Yes, yes, yes.
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sappphic-yearning · 5 months
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“I don't love women the way men love women.
I don't want to tame them.
I don't want to own them.
I don't want to treat them like a trophy in a case.
I just want to be close to them.
It's still hunger,
but a different kind of hunger.
-I almost didn't recognize it at first.”
-She is the poem by June Bates
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xxconnection · 6 months
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This Lesbian Poem by Akhaji Zakiya from Lisa C Moore's Does Your Mama Know?: An Anthology of Black Lesbian Coming Out Stories
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raisunii · 5 months
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sapphism : a web weave
Sappho / Girls Like Girls, Hayley Kiyoko / Heavy, Tegan And Sara / The Chapel of Saints Perpetua and Felicity at The Basilica / Lyra Wren / But I'm A Cheerleader, Jamie Babbit / Asking About You, Eloise Klein Healy / Ring of Keys, Lisa Kron / Le Sommeil, Gustave Courbet
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weaponizedtit · 9 months
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I’m attracted to safety. Coming home to the most beautiful person you've ever seen and you know however bad everything outside maybe, your person will be there to support you, no matter what. You know your feelings are safe as you lay your head on her lap. She listens to your vents and your sighs, all the while holding you gently in her soft, warm arms, stroking your hair. And you get to protect her just the same. There is no judgement, there is no danger, there is only love. Safety. That’s all I want. The romance of safety in my lover's arms.
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leatherlesbianstuff · 2 months
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Love Poem to a Butch Woman (2005) By Deborah A. Miranda This is how it is with me: so strong, I want to draw the egg from your womb and nourish it in my own. I want to mother your child made only of us, of me, you: no borrowed seed from any man. I want to re-fashion the matrix of creation, make a human being from the human love that passes between our bodies. Sweetheart, this is how it is: when you emerge from the bedroom in a clean cotton shirt, sleeves pushed back over forearms, scented with cologne from an amber bottle—I want to open my heart, the brightest aching slit of my soul, receive your pearl. I watch your hands, wait for the sign that means you’ll touch me, open me, fill me; wait for that moment when your desire leaps inside me.
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"I know what I am when I look at old pictures long, wavy hair, eyeliner, mascara demure and mysterious. I know what I am when I wander on my lunch hour to sample new fragrances and linger near lace lingerie. I know what I am when I paw through these old letters still warm with old passions held firmly in wide rubber bands. I know what I am when the sight of old white t-shirts and the smell of Old Space can still make me shiver and smile I know what I am in the dark when you fill me your hands and your mouth in the head of the heart of my center I know what I am." "Old femme", Madeline Davis, The Persistent Desire, (Edited by Joan Nestle) (1992)
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queerism1969 · 4 months
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butchka · 6 months
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trailing my nose up their body, stopping to press kisses on their hips, stomach, tits. My hand runs follow their curves on the opposite side, rough calluses in delicate touch. they’re the rolling hills i roam.
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their-we-go · 7 months
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i used to be a little girl. and now i’m not. and that’s good. that’s important.
but the thing is. is that i’ll never be her again. can’t, won’t, will never. wouldn’t want to, anyway.
but the other thing is, i keep all her favourite books on my bottom shelf. and i have her stuffed animals on the foot of my bed, still. and i sleep in her room, every night. and i look at the pink walls, at the colour she chose, and i think of repainting and i don’t.
i’ll never be her again, but i am living in the life that she built. waited for. dreamed of. i’ll never be her again, but i try to take good care of her things
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shorthairedbrownqueer · 3 months
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To all the girls I’ve ever loved
Because I want Netflix to make a movie about a lesbian and the 84839 people they fall for 🫡🌈
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smolbeanxoxo · 1 year
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My head is loud, I need you to love me louder
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the-sappho-of-lesbos · 2 months
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Source: The Exploding Frangipani ; Lesbian Writing From Australia and New Zealand -edited by Cathie Dunsford and Susan Hawthorne
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cowboy-heart · 6 days
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'fire on fire' - a poem i wrote about butch4butch desire and the shame that can come with it 🧡 (images ID in read more)
[Images ID:
Poem called Fire on Fire:
Oh, sweet sunshine boy, Edges jagged like a grazed knee On the summer pavement.
You take up the room With broad shoulders and raucous laughs Legs far apart Unable to be toppled – But you wish somebody would, Wouldn’t you?
You fear seeming a threat, You don’t have to worry about that with me, We’re cut from the same granite, And I promise I won’t Go below the belt.
You fear yourself, What would happen if you didn’t hold back All that passion and ember Sizzling on your lips and fingertips, The urge to control To be rubbed raw To be bent and splayed To be weak To let that guard down.
I know that armour protects you But, baby, I know how heavy it is too, Strip it all down with me. Let my own calloused hands Uncover that raw skin underneath, Against me you can lean, Hip meeting hip, Lips meeting lips, In the cover of the dark. It can stay between us.
Let me show you what it feels like. Both stripped down To our bare vulnerabilities, Unafraid of each other’s sharp edges, Mouths connecting like We’re searching for air.
To be butch like us, Can be so lonely, You must learn to be so hard. Let me kiss the tender bump of your bicep Run your tongue along the curve of my armpit You can’t burn what’s already lit. When we see each other again in that rundown bar, You can hit my shoulder bashfully And let your finger linger in that space a second too long. We don’t have to tell anyone That you want me too.
End ID.]
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