Is it meant to be like this?

Two faces are pushed together 

and we call it a kiss?

Two tongues are mushed and squished,

back and forth,

forth and back.

My sweaty palms reach 

for his body to balance myself

but I still feel unstable.

There’s so much going on

but 

still not enough.

My moment hasn’t arrived,

no sparks ignited,

I try and feel for some butterflies but

it seems as though they’ve all died.

The fireworks lay sleeping like my heart,

I listen out for a beat but she is still

still.

silent.

distracted.

I don’t really like this?

But it seems he does and he wants more.

Maybe I’m just immature

or maybe I’m just unsure

There’s a first time for everything but also a second,

third, fourth, fifth.

I feel like there should be something more

but every time I fall short.

My love does not grow, instead the only thing increasing

is the pressure from being around him.

He asks for a walk.

It’d be nice to talk.

However the only movement from his lips come from leaning 

towards mine.

I guess I’m not good enough for a simple conversation

and so this continues.

And so my insecurities stay sealed to my lips

where I believe they belong.

Useful.

Only to be voiced later on to an unsympathetic ear.

Confused as I am

when I question.

Is it meant to be like this?

By Phoebe Wiseman.

Rainbows sit in my wardrobe

next to white skittles, 

confetti remains and oversized whistles

used breathlessly to make sound waves ripple

past opposers and their prejudice. 

beneath are fabricated alibis

beside the free condoms are endless reasons why

my friend had removed the makeup from around her eyes

before we reached the car.  

Rainbows dance through my music

my library flowing with contrasting beats

with girls singing love songs and the pronouns are “she”

when the house is deserted, consists solely of me;

i’d put on that hidden playlist.

in the songs that i write i might mention a her

and the pot of my brain grabs a whisk, starts to stir

i’ll look through the lyrics and clearly there were

no mention, at all, of boys.

Rainbows fly around my neck

around a little necklace of which i share

with someone who i deeply care

hiding beneath jumpers that we swap and share

or clashing when our lips interlock.

after plotting and planning and rigorous review

collarbone will locate my first tattoo

mum would be furious if ever she knew

of the intertwining venus symbols.

Rainbows dominate my wall

a flag of pride that’s made it’s journey

accompanied by love and pain and learning

promising to not reject questions concerning 

the Rainbows in my heart. 

In the mirror I don’t see me.

In the mirror I see what society wants of me.

Straight hair,

straight teeth,

straight A’s,

straight.

Straight to the point I must say I am not that,

I cannot be that.

Every day we strive for the impossible.

We suppress not express and

in the panic for popularity and beauty,

we forget our duty

to ourselves.

Don’t be what society wants.

Don’t be what you have been told to want.

Be you.

Be true

to the person hidden beneath years of expectations.

Be brave enough to say

“I don’t know”.

Be strong of mind

not muscle.

Be strong enough to say,

I’m not “your” perfect

I’m perfectly happy

By Cameron Kelsey.