Coming Out Call-Out

A solemn young man stands near an open wooden door in a gothic hallway, lit by a faint glow behind him

Ever wonder why we have to “come out” while straight folks get to just exist?

Comin’ out, declarin’ I’m a faggot;
Beggin’ for abuse from ev’ry bigot.
When did we hear a hetero proclaim?
Don’t be telling me it ain’t the same.
Seriously, must we still talk like this?
Does progress only apply to feminists?

Comin’ out, comin’ out, I’m comin’ out,
Just to help those who had a bit of doubt.
How old when you went homosexual?
Probably when I became menstrual.
Is the equality talk just bogus?
Does the 21st century not apply to us?

Comin’ out, comin’ out, I’m comin’ out,
Just to be fair game for ev’ry damn lout.
What it feel like to take it up the ass?
Get off the fence and feel the greener grass.
Do you think I am just unfortunate?
How long before you call me effeminate?

Comin’ out, comin’ out, I’m comin’ out,
Just to excuse those who give me a clout.
Let’s see the same requirements of het’rosexuals;
Don’t be telling me it ain’t essential.

—H, tired of asking permission to be

Whispers from the Fire: More Poems that Burn with Truth…

A haunted man stands in the dark as bees swarm from a bleeding wound in his chest, surrounded by decaying flowers and toxic smoke.

Rumour Addiction

Along strobe-lit streets the gossip creeps, spraying rotten blossoms while hungry bees sip spoilt nectar. Every whispered word a seed of rot.

Read the Full Whisper →
A weary man carries a wooden cross along a rainbow-lit path through gothic ruins under moonlight

Born Gay

A scream, a slash, a gasp, this poem doesn’t whisper, it detonates. "Born Gay" is a defiant, fragmented descent into systemic hate, internalized shame and the brutal resilience of a soul made for light but forged in fire.

Read the Full Whisper →

Whispers from the Scars: Whispers from the Closet: More Poems of Gay Identity and Truth…

A kneeling figure clutches their throat beside a stone cradle and broken chains in a moonlit ruin

Suffocated at Birth

A piercing free verse poem about surviving the suffocation of heterosexist expectation. Raised as an abomination, silenced by force, this voice now breaks the air with truth and fury.

Read the Full Whisper →
A pale, androgynous figure with hollow eyes stands in a dark, gothic forest while a shadowy snake coils behind them. In the distance, a masked silhouette emerges from the mist, evoking themes of betrayal and haunting identity. The image is painted in muted tones of black, gray, and brown.

Heterovert

You wore my mask and whispered my pain as yours. But I knew. Even behind your smile, I smelled the rot of erasure. Your queer was my gag—But I sang anyway. I flew anyway. I remained whole.

Read the Full Whisper →

Whispers Out Loud: More Spoken Word Poems to Perform…

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