My life is but a weaving, between my God and me,
I do not choose the colors, He worketh steadily.
Ofttimes he weaveth sorrow, and I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper, and I the underside.
Not till the loom is silent, and the shuttles cease to fly,
Will God unroll the canvas, and explain the reasons why
The dark threads are as needful in the skillful weaver's hand
As threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.
He knows, He loves, He cares,
Soule of my soule! my Joy, my crown, my friend!
A name which all the rest doth comprehend;
How happy are we now, whose sols are grown,
By an incomparable mixture, One:
Whose well acquainted minds are not as neare
As Love, or vows, or secrets can endeare.
I have no thought but what's to thee reveal'd,
Nor thou desire that is from me conceal'd.
Thy heart locks up my secrets richly set,
And my breast is thy private cabinet.
We're proud of "Old Glory,"
the flag of our nation,
Standing for liberty and freedom,
Meaning patriotism and parades,
and marching bands;
And people across America,
Our star-spangled banner
waves proudly on high,
Too proud to die; broken and blind he died
The darkest way, and did not turn away,
A cold kind man brave in his narrow pride
On that darkest day, Oh, forever may
He lie lightly, at last, on the last, crossed
Hill, under the grass, in love, and there grow
Young among the long flocks, and never lie lost
Or still all the numberless days of his death, though
Neither the heart cut by a piece of glass
in a wasteland of thorns
nor the atrocious waters seen in the corners
of certain houses, waters like eyelids and eyes
can capture your waist in my hands
when my heart lifts its oaks
towards your unbreakable thread of snow.
Nocturnal sugar, spirit
of the crowns,
i am queer.
i am my school’s gsa
i am asking people’s pronouns
i am a sign on my teachers door that says “all are welcome here”
i am a couple who can’t hold hands on the street without being hate crimed
i am a protest against supreme court justices who live in a world where 7.1% of the population they swore to protect cannot live their lives being who they are unless they are behind the bars of a jail cell and don’t think to do anything to change it
i am the singular pride flag swaying lonely in the wind of a small suburban town in connecticut
i am millions of people who just want to be left alone but who’s mere existence spawns twitter debates with 80-year-olds
i am a romance novel with cartoon drawings of two women on the cover
i am mistranslated bible verses used in arguments against queer rights
What qualities make a ‘successful man’,
Is it the tambor of his voice,
Some lofty goals, a lifelong plan,
A steering hand, his knowing choice.
Can compassion play a part
Or is that interpreted as meekness;
Is it wrong to show a heart
Without labeling it as weakness?
A little small world, is the one that we live in.
It’s a very little small world in the midst of the space.
It’s a little world, with little room.
It’s a small world of impending doom.
But that’s not the tale I wanna tell,
It’s the tale of all that went well.
So strap on your seatbelt, and enjoy the ride,
cause nothing beats history and standing with pride,
for this little small world, that we call our home.
They said they would do it
And done it they did,
But little they know
They’ve lifted the lid.
The kettle is boiling,
The heat never more,
I’m ready and waiting
To even the score.
In a tango with the sky,
Along the symphony of the wind,
Higher and higher Icarus flew.
In shade of a cloud
Above, swayed by the wind,
Mocking it's impotence, his pride grew.
Defiant Icarus refused to comply.
'Tear through.' The voice of pride maligned.