This is an open letter to the gay guys who grab my boobs when they’re drunk|Monologues March

“This is an open letter to the gay guys who grab my boobs when they’re drunk” – Written by Emily Powers and performed by Ellis Busby as part of Queerativity’s Monologues March.

Queerativity’s Monologues March involves showcasing a number of LGBTQ+ Monologues throughout March. Would you like to be involved? Email [email protected]

Autumnal Haikus

These anonymously submitted Autumnal Haikus, paired with Madeleine Leisk’s beautiful illustrations, conclude Queerativity’s Halloween-themed features wonderfully. Madeleine’s artwork can be purchased as cards on her Etsy page here.

their eyes are autumn 

changes with the bitter breeze 

i will keep them warm.

the dying season 

maybe this part of me can

finally be free. 

pumpkin sculpting done

carve holes out of me and then

maybe i can pass.

want a cup of tea?

just one of the many ways

you say i love you.

Hexed

They say that we enchant.
I know she enchants me
With those eyes
Wise eyes of tree bark
Entwined with poison ivy.

They chant “dark magic”
But we scream love.
Potions of waning leaves,
And witching hour kisses
Under withering stars.

They point paranoid fingers
As we twist each-others matted braids.
We conjure intoxicating romance
And command the roots, the buds,
To scatter wreaths across our hearts.

They grab their pitchforks
As we lie in beds of sanguine sage,
Heal our rosemary love.

Vials of hydrangea at our door
Dye our clothes the colours
They want to drown us.

They won’t see us leave
Flying under violet skies
Together and free.
Hunt us not,
Those who do not grasp

Our ember love.

By Molly Knox.

First Kiss Poem


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


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. 


Perfectly Happy

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.

Welcome to Queerativity | internal Snowball fight Poem

Welcome to Queerativity: An inclusive and exciting place that exists to promote LGBTQ+ focussed art, created by LGBTQ+ people. 

Every week there will be a new piece of work shared on this platform, advertising the Creator and further ways for viewers to connect with them and their work. This is a great way to both publicise your original work and engage with some Queer art!

With a variety of poems, performances, drawings and stories, you will not want to miss a single week of a Queerativity post! Be sure to subscribe here

Today, the 1st of July, marks a significant date for me. Three years ago, I came out to my parents and little sister, two years ago, I came out publicly on Facebook, and today I have decided to launch Queerativity.

So, to kick this site off in the most relevant way, our first piece of work is “internal Snowball fight”: a three-part poem on Coming Out, submitted by a writer who wishes to remain Anonymous. 

Love,

H x


internal Snowball fight

I

Summer is my favourite season

i like the way things glow.

there are a plethora of reasons

why i hate the Snow.

when it snowed last Wintertime

my hands went crisp and blue. 

although I numbed things with mulled wine

my fingers throbbed, askew.

i dream of how the Sun will Shine

when i’m lying in the sand.

my heart content, i feel divine

cocktail in my hand. 

i really tried to love the Snowfall

wrapping up in layers.

but i always sensed the Summer call

amidst my freezing prayers.

even with a little Sun-tan

i’m still the person that you know.

please accept my love of Summer,

don’t push me in the Snow.

II

Summer is my favourite season

the Sun brings out Her eyes.

there are a plethora of reasons

i’m enchanted by Her thighs. 

when it snowed last Wintertime

He wanted to stay warm.

although i numbed things with mulled wine

i sat there cold, forlorn.

i dream of how the Sun will Shine

She holds the hand i reach.

my heart content, i feel divine,

enamoured at the beach.

i really tried to love the Snowfall

because it was His favourite.

but i always sensed the Summer call

and when it came i’d savour it.

even with a little Sun-tan

my body She’ll admire.

please accept my love of Summer 

exchange the Snow for Fire.

III

Summer is my favourite season

mum and dad, i’m Gay.

there are a plethora of reasons

why i am this way.

when it snowed last Wintertime

my nights with Him i’d spend.

although i numbed things with mulled wine

no longer could i pretend.

i dream of how the Sun will Shine

Girlfriend by my side.

my heart content, i feel divine

no necessity to hide.

i really tried to love the Snowfall,

create the daughter you desired.

but I always sensed the Summer call

and was instantly inspired.

even with this new awareness

i’m still the person you know.

i hope this doesn’t make you care less

or push me in the Snow.