Can you be a gay icon without being gay?
You can, people put different bizarre women as icons.
If I agree with that or not, that’s a different matter.
But can a gay icon be someone who hasn’t written in your face gay work?
I mean Oscar Wilde, sure Dorian is pretty gay, but it’s not gay gay like The Well Of Loneliness, I don’t even know why I managed to pick up a lesbian book, it’s interesting how it’s on the verge of transsexuality, with Stephen being close to a transman, but not really. The point would be that back then, we didn’t have a stereotypical butch lady, hell, lesbianism was weird.
I should have guts to pick up novels by gay men for gay men instead of a jumping over the hills Wilde.
I want to be this person who is feminine and who is not.
Your face is beautiful, but only when I look at it from a distance, so I don’t see you and my fingers aren’t needed.
Thinking with more thought, to the naked eye all butch women are transmen, well, to heterosexual people and I didn’t know what even gay was until recent.
I want to slip my lip into two, just to feel the pain or rather see the pain, with the blood flowing downwards maybe after I see you buying me a Snickers bar and I stop counting the money, but I’ll still get dragged to the psychologist and it scares me.
It reminds me of the closed doors, that one time when snow managed to cover the ground and I walked around, seeing the church my mother remembered while being pregnant with me and I wonder if I should find God, so wrapping the red scarf tighter, I walk closer through the thin snow, still feeling cold, no one else covering the street and the doors end up closed.
I know I’ve sinned and I knew I was gay, but I still wanted to be accepted, I wanted to walk behind the altar, I wanted to have my hair taken away, I wanted to feel water fall on me from a kettle due to the lack of funds or rather the church saving money for ridiculous golden ornaments.
My anxiety reminds me of a snake, attacking and biting me, it’s so long and I don’t know where it ends and it sometimes hides under the covers, so that when I lift them up I think I see you, but it’s not it’s more anxiety and depression that I get a razor blade and I get scared, looking around with the borrowed books and I slash my lip open, making sure the blade reaches the teeth and blood gushes out on my white pajamas and I walk out, looking like a ghost, wondering why can’t I be chained to immortality without hunger and the numbers counting in my head, but then the snake bites whatever it gets.
I can’t talk and I’m swallowing blood already.
You grab my shoulders and I wish I could faint, you start shaking me more violently and I grab all the power I’ve got inside me and I know I’m beautiful with all the pain leaving my body with regret and anxiety awaiting me in the morning.
I grab you and I kiss you with my destroyed lips which will never touch you again and I am the snake for once. I am your snake. I am your anxiety under the covers. I am your sexual desires. I’m that bloke you’ve kissed once and then married a lass.
-
I've actually written this quite a while ago and yeah, I'm sorry that I've put the Zoe Devlin Love request on hold, but it should be up soon .w. sorry about that, so in the meantime, I had this written so here it is.
I'm pretty much in the other Brian Molko story at the moment, which I will also upload soon :O
Ok, about this story, I'm pretty much exhausted and when I'm exhausted and troubled, Richey is always there and the mood matches his, not exactly, but yeah, so I was very happy to write Richey once more and Richey always has a special place in my heart and so does Nicky Wire, of course his space has lots of glitter and a Wales flag and etc etc etc XD
It's called Post-Mermaid Tears because I bought a nail varnish and the name was Mermaid Tears which caught my eye as a bizarre and even tacky choice, but I liked it as a story title and post, well, I admit, I just felt like the vibe, so yeah >.>
Please feel free to request :D
I know you ship Richey/Nicky.
<3
You can, people put different bizarre women as icons.
If I agree with that or not, that’s a different matter.
But can a gay icon be someone who hasn’t written in your face gay work?
I mean Oscar Wilde, sure Dorian is pretty gay, but it’s not gay gay like The Well Of Loneliness, I don’t even know why I managed to pick up a lesbian book, it’s interesting how it’s on the verge of transsexuality, with Stephen being close to a transman, but not really. The point would be that back then, we didn’t have a stereotypical butch lady, hell, lesbianism was weird.
I should have guts to pick up novels by gay men for gay men instead of a jumping over the hills Wilde.
I want to be this person who is feminine and who is not.
Your face is beautiful, but only when I look at it from a distance, so I don’t see you and my fingers aren’t needed.
Thinking with more thought, to the naked eye all butch women are transmen, well, to heterosexual people and I didn’t know what even gay was until recent.
I want to slip my lip into two, just to feel the pain or rather see the pain, with the blood flowing downwards maybe after I see you buying me a Snickers bar and I stop counting the money, but I’ll still get dragged to the psychologist and it scares me.
It reminds me of the closed doors, that one time when snow managed to cover the ground and I walked around, seeing the church my mother remembered while being pregnant with me and I wonder if I should find God, so wrapping the red scarf tighter, I walk closer through the thin snow, still feeling cold, no one else covering the street and the doors end up closed.
I know I’ve sinned and I knew I was gay, but I still wanted to be accepted, I wanted to walk behind the altar, I wanted to have my hair taken away, I wanted to feel water fall on me from a kettle due to the lack of funds or rather the church saving money for ridiculous golden ornaments.
My anxiety reminds me of a snake, attacking and biting me, it’s so long and I don’t know where it ends and it sometimes hides under the covers, so that when I lift them up I think I see you, but it’s not it’s more anxiety and depression that I get a razor blade and I get scared, looking around with the borrowed books and I slash my lip open, making sure the blade reaches the teeth and blood gushes out on my white pajamas and I walk out, looking like a ghost, wondering why can’t I be chained to immortality without hunger and the numbers counting in my head, but then the snake bites whatever it gets.
I can’t talk and I’m swallowing blood already.
You grab my shoulders and I wish I could faint, you start shaking me more violently and I grab all the power I’ve got inside me and I know I’m beautiful with all the pain leaving my body with regret and anxiety awaiting me in the morning.
I grab you and I kiss you with my destroyed lips which will never touch you again and I am the snake for once. I am your snake. I am your anxiety under the covers. I am your sexual desires. I’m that bloke you’ve kissed once and then married a lass.
-
I've actually written this quite a while ago and yeah, I'm sorry that I've put the Zoe Devlin Love request on hold, but it should be up soon .w. sorry about that, so in the meantime, I had this written so here it is.
I'm pretty much in the other Brian Molko story at the moment, which I will also upload soon :O
Ok, about this story, I'm pretty much exhausted and when I'm exhausted and troubled, Richey is always there and the mood matches his, not exactly, but yeah, so I was very happy to write Richey once more and Richey always has a special place in my heart and so does Nicky Wire, of course his space has lots of glitter and a Wales flag and etc etc etc XD
It's called Post-Mermaid Tears because I bought a nail varnish and the name was Mermaid Tears which caught my eye as a bizarre and even tacky choice, but I liked it as a story title and post, well, I admit, I just felt like the vibe, so yeah >.>
Please feel free to request :D
I know you ship Richey/Nicky.
<3
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