lgbt poetry

motha how could you eva? a poem fo Hydeia

Written for World AIDS Day 2019


condoms wrappers sealed

sperm dripz hips

grab mouf spread

legz open screamz

once held

cryd

once

but now  i

have

h

 Began to make the an “h” sound.

 

will my baby?

 

screamz

i have it

burns so bad

uterus gag

i have it

& aint no

faggit stuck hiz

dick in me

i have it

&

aint nobody raped

me

 

motha puffed

& stuck

skin wit random

penz

& gave me

& took

& she neva said

im sorry

it was an accident

if only i had known

i wouldntve

nuffin-she-said-nuffin

i just want ta be normal

i just want ta live

itz lyke leachez

are jawing at da baq

of my eye ballz

i caint see anythang but red

im scared dat one day im gonna look up

from a wheel chair

im gonna sneeze & my heart will stop fovea

im gonna cry & cough & laugh & blood will spritz out &

i aint prepared fo errybody to stare

at me

at it

 

im scared ta kiss anyone

i stay in wen itz below 70 degreez

i canit gitta cold

im sore

from peeling awf

& slicin wartz

it

makez me tenda

motha

how could you eva?

i am ashamed

of it

it iz ashamed

of me

da way itattacks me

& i aint do shit but be born

its ashamed

its a shame

i have

H.I.V

& didnt have a choice fo

it


Lester Mayer’s new poetry book “African Booty Scratcha (Lovin Da Ashy-Blaq Fat Hall Wit Yella Teef, Peasy Head & A Broken Smile) is available for purchase on Amazon and Kindle now. 

I love you I do

I have believed in love
On the wings of heartbreak
                                    In my mind
The clock moves
Children laugh
Water drips
Bees stings
Birds fly
Wind blows
Bread provides comfort
Alcohol gives permission
Tongues slips
Mouths kisses
Noses smell
Red
Roses
Red
Bricks
freshly washed
By august rain
occasionally
the moon is
Purple
Making the
World circulation
More interesting and
Questionable
In my mind
All of this
Is possible
                                    Because
You seriously love me

                                    but in reality
im sittin here thinking
pen to paper
water hot
tea steeped
honey sweet
all true
all true
but
your love for me.

Smiling Warmly

 Like a warm peanut butter and banana sandwich
Like a rose candle lit by a lilac
And a sex on the beach poured in a martini glass
like a dog named “Skipper” or “Dallas” being lulled to sleep
by the sounds of the wind brushing snow to east
Your strange love is what I need most and don’t expect it to happen until it happens. 

I am grateful for you.

 

 

Hug

If I fall in love
If he be white
Let him understand
The rarity of a black
Diamond and pearl
Disguised as me 

 If I fall in love
If he be from the middle east
Let him see the sun rise
By the corner of my smile
And know the darkness of night
In my right eye is even more beautiful 

 If I fall in love
If he be Asian
Let him find
The time to be proud is
When he catches me looking at him
When he wasn’t even paying attention 

If I fall in love
If he be Black
Let him know
I am a reflection of things he deserves and
All that he wished for when no one would listen

If I fall in love
If…whoever he be
Let him know
My magic to write poetry
Is my prayer to stop the wars
While protecting the children. 

If I fall in love
Let it be with me 

Kiss

i know you really love me
because i feel your lips
on my neck at 5 am
kissing me straight out of your dreams 

i know you love me because
you don’t laugh when i laugh
instead you cry because you know
that’s what i cannot bring myself to do 

i know you love me because
you hold my promises to my neck
when i’ve proposed what i truly want and
began threatening myself potential

i know you love me because
you hold me
to it

You hold me to it

retrace: a poem in 5 parts

 

i.

last night, in 2012, it was raining and you were outside, 

this morning, 11am 12pm 1pm morning, you sit at the window eyes diverted and try to remember 

when the weather would weather your skin and pierce to whatever 

sits beneath, when the rain would hit the muscle only anymore reachable 

by your testosterone needles, every friday, today friday, yesterday morning friday but 

last night always something else. 

Note from Les

Love Village, as summer comes to an end, and we welcome fall off the backs of hurricane devastations, unexpected deaths and suicided from children hood remembrance to elderly forget and forgiveness, I want to bring all of your attentions to love.

Love still exists. It still scrapes knees on play grounds and makes the arguments between human’s worth it. This summer/past year, has taught those whom have chosen to listen (to people instead of your heart) that Love is indeed, not possible/not available and has no future. I offer this… “that’s some bullshit.” Love is indeed alive, breathing, kicking and is well. As temperature drops and we adjust to new places, people and try new things, my prayer is that you remember love is not a weird thing to carry with you.

Love is not a strange thing to desire and to hope to receive back. These next few months I will offer you a series of love poems only to be taken and received when you need it most. When you need a kiss on the cheek or a hug and you are all alone…please have enough courage to visit us here at Queeries Blog and get your monthly kiss and hug in the name of Love.

with so much Love,

Lester Eugene Mayers

I love you, anyways

I know you’ve been taught that big and black is scary, that being gay is a sin, and if I don’t repent before the clock strikes life, I’ll reside in the pits of Hell. I know you’ve been taught that going against the odds of fashion means that I’m a bastard, and my father must be to blame. I know you’ve been taught to believe that if I lose too much weight I must have AIDS, yet with all of this hateful “knowledge”…

I must relay this:
“I love you, anyways 💜”

Till tomorrow,
When we are reminded of the worlds sorrow.

PS: When you wake up in the morning, make sure you say “hello,” And be thankful to have laid sin free, propped on a sacred pillow.

Succession

a painting of a river running through a mountainous valley. In the foreground there is a human skull, a crown, and some other artifacts. The image is overlaid with the following poem: We must own this grief we have inherited And wear the skulls of the queens that came before us as crowns Raise them high, honored, and remembered Raise them high as we must hold our own heads Raise them high- Raise Hell

We must own this grief we have inherited 

And wear the skulls of the queens that came before us as crowns

Raise them high, honored, and remembered 

Raise them high as we must hold our own heads

Raise them high- 

Raise Hell

 

I wrote this poem about a year ago.  I’m still pretty happy with it.  It’s a good segue, I think, from Pride Month into Wrath Month.  I thought it also deserved a painting, so I played with watercolor and pulled out some acrylics for the first time in a while. We can’t forget that trans women of color are the foundation of the movement, and we must honor them and the others who have fought and fallen in our community. And we can’t stop fighting.

To give credit where credit is due, the skulls as crowns line was inspired by Chrysanthemum Tran’s spoken word poem, “Vampires.” It’s heavy.