It’s never about the connection.
Worried about their complexion.
It’s to feel wooed.
Worried they won’t be pursued.
It’s about discovery.
Blank after the last recovery.
Another person intertwined,
Waiting to be redefined.
If I wanted someone-
But It’s not about anyone
It’s not better than alone.
I can be on my own.
There are so many feelings there;
It’s not constant care.
Sometimes it’s just about the moment.
It’s not constant torment.
For me, they are comradery, safety, maturity
Lesbian bed death wipes impurity
And I am left with no indication
Everything lost in translation.
Friendships struggle under misconceptions
Feeling they have a right to my sexual intentions
They can forget what’s important
thinking they are making an improvement
Feeling shit at first
Then remembering my own thirst.
My family, my career
Things that don’t depend on being queer
I do want love and a proposal,
But not at other things’ disposal.
An innate part of me thinks, YES!
But I’m choosing not to obsess.
I want real and kind to me,
work is really important and it won’t ever not be.
Someone to want and understand
Not to keep me trapped and canned.
It’s not always fireworks and sparks
Or anniversaries and landmarks
A couple of-
It’s love
-A poem by Wilhelmena Allin
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