'Veins' by Ravyn LaRue

My veins in my wrists are poking through my skin
It's really gross
I hate veins
At least when they show like this
It's like the line in 'Esperanza Rising'
Where she complains of her worker's hands
But this was brought on by sorry
I'm sure of it
I'd like to get fatter, only for the sake to cover up these gross blue tributaries
I thought of tattoos, but I'd only find it grosser
I could wear many bracelets
But they might rupture the wounds
I hate this
I hate this
They can't see that I'm falling apart
But if they knew the former me
They would see what this place does to me
I'm disintegrating, for God's sake.
Mama says my voice has changed
And that scares me more than anything-
My voice means the world to me, as odd as that might be.
I'd rather have gross veins and a good voice.
I'd wear opera gloves when I sang it.
But I'm falling apart in multiple ways
Which I surely cannot control
And I need to write
Resting these gross wrists on the warm laptop.
I constantly feel like a zombie here.
Empty, in a way.
I'd rather be a wendigo-
At least they feel something and have agency.
But I have no choice.
And my veins protrude, though I wish they didn't.

'Necessary' by Ravyn LaRue

I have to leave
I have my reasons
Dear
They say I'm dumb and weak
But I think I'd be more so staying when I know it would destroy me
And not for the better, either.
I've felt destroyed before
But it made the triumph sweeter
But here is not fertile ground for triumph.
As misled as I may have been at the beginning,
At least I know that now.
And, God, am I aware now
There's no place for soft and sappy here
There's no place for someone like me
I think it'd be bad of me to stay
Unkind, in a way
Since self-destruction is still destruction
And I am necessary
Despite it all, I know I'm necessary
So I have to leave
I have my reasons
Dear

'Joy' by Ravyn LaRue

I want to be a sap.
I want to smile like a dork thinking about my favorite characters in a kick-line.
I want to laugh uncontrollably when Jimmy or Billy or whatever his name is falls into the Grotto.
I want to cry happy tears when I realize that we made people laugh.
I want to read to children.
I want to draw cards for my friends and write them poems.
I want to go to tumultuous parties, where the worst that could happen is a hangover, but it's worth it.
I want musical theatre to remain as schmaltzy as it is.
I want summer and staying up all night to sit talking inside playgrounds.
I want Valleyfair and the lazy river.
I want escapism.
I want to cry because I love people so much and I don't know what else to do.
I want hugs that last for hours.
I want the right before, before someone leaves.
I want to let people hear me sing and see me cry.
I want to talk at chipotle about the homophobia we've experienced, and laugh it off with "they're just silly jocks".
I want last summer to be the standard my life was set on.
I want to be Joy, my Queertopia character, forever.
I want to be happy.
I want to be happy.
I want to be happy.

'No 003070' by Ravyn LaRue

These are the things I know.
I'm sure that I should keep writing poetry (even though it might suck thoroughly).
I know love musicals-
I know I'd far prefer being sappy than being stoic-
This is becoming an I am song
And since I'm so unsure of myself in every way, shape and form
An I am song might be worthwhile
I know I no longer like my endings like I like my chocolate-
Bittersweet
I know, I suppose, I often like my endings sad, but this is not the end
I know won't let it be because, as weak and frail and I might be
I know I've been torn down by cold winds and cruelty
I know I am necessary
I know that in (let me count again) seven days I will see my mama and brother.
I know I feel bad when I call him my surrogate brother
It seems cruel, even though it's true
I know I should just say brother, even though people are so backward that they stop me mid-story to say-
"He can't be your brother, he's black! And you're not. And he's black!"
That's what I'm dealing with here-
That much idiocy in a big-city environment which is claimed to be diverse, and enlightened and artistic
Art may be penned by bigots, but in order for me to call an environment artistic, it needs to feel like home
I need to know if I got emotionally naked, I wouldn't be emotionally raped
I know I'm not scared of the L-train, Homeless people, Muggers or dark
I know I fear those who stand on podiums and spotlights and preach hate
I know I had a nightmare that I stayed here, had children and a girlfriend, and the court of law took my children away
Why?
Because my acting teacher claimed to the officials that queer people aren't fit to raise kids
Just as she proclaimed it in class
And I know I should think-
"Psshhh, my mind is just overactive, as it always is"
But dreams scare me, at least when they feel real
And this place is too corrupt-
No it's not just a stereotype, I was threatened to be jailed, due to loitering less than 5 minutes, while waiting for a friend-
But it's too corrupt for me to just shrug that sort of scary premonition off
But I am strong enough to know I need to leave
And I know I want kids
I don't know if I want a girlfriend, but I feel like 'Being Alive' right now, so maybe I do-
But I know I want kids
I know I gawk at them iceskating and think-
I know I want that for my future
I know I want to read to them, and take them to see shows with me (the cute schmaltzy ones, I unashamedly still enjoy)
I know I want to sing to them
I know I want to sing 'Wicked Little Town' as a lullaby when they're bullied, since although, I'll of course try to end it, everyone is bullied inevitably
I know I sometimes used to doubt that evil existed, but this place proves it
I know I fear I'm being hypersensitive, but even if I am, that is no excuse.
I know I was slut-shamed again.
I know I stood afore the class in the negligee demanded of me by the script and did my scene-
The reaction was no one caring for my acting, and everyone either complaining about or catcalling me due to the bloody negligee
I know I'm just ranting
I've written better I am song poetry in my sleep
But I know enough to know this much
And though that might not be enough
I know there are people in this world who truly love me
I know I sometimes doubt it while possessed by demons
But I know it's true that there are people who truly love me
And I know, as long as I'm right about that fact
All this bullshit, too, shall surely pass soon enough
I just know it.

'Dionysia and Panathenaia' by Ravyn LaRue

I definitely think theatre is lots like sports
Now, both sides of the comparison will hate me
But the more I watch the Tony's
Like a nostalgic high school football-player
Like a fanatic
The more I witness that, and all else theatrical
I realize how much it pushes the human body and condition to the brink
And of course I love theatre much much more
But I love it like a sports fan
I'd paint my face and scream all night just for the sake of watching
And I'd near sell my soul to participate
Even for a moment in the limelight
One triumph would be worth a million wounds
I suppose I just miss it
But absence makes the heart grow fonder
And I realize how much I took it for granted
So when I go back
I'm going to audition like a fiend
I don't need to go pro
I just need it in my life
And I suppose I can add that to my ever-shortening list
Of thing I know for sure
But if I don't keep on with this dream
Though broadway isn't my goal
I'll just be some sad and bitter malcontent on the couch
Disgruntled that I'm not up there
Probably forcing the children I wish to have to audition for things
And I don't want that
Just give me some community theatre
And my heart will be so much happier than it is now
Since acting here is seen as a beauty pageant
Which, of course, I'd never win
But back home it was salvation
My church
The thing that kept me being alive
Religion sometimes helps people find themselves
And that's why, here, my soul is so spiritless

'Syndicat Lib des Bateliers Indep Tarif Reduit Pri' by Ravyn LaRue

I'm perfectly content with poetry.
I'm hardly perfectly content with anything else.
I itch all over, figuratively.
I feel so needy, though I am on my own.
I want heroes and home, things I never let myself be fooled by before.
But that was because I had them then.
I would be an alcoholic if I were to stay.
I know that's odd and presumptuous to claim, but I know I would be.
Many here are anyways.
I would become a pretty little bouquet of things I would never want to be.
That is if I were to stay, but I'm not staying.
I'm not staying.
I'm not staying.
I want to be naked and drunk and madly in love.
I want to be religious and settle-down-ish.
And most of all-
I want to sing!
I want to sing!
I want to sing!
And though these wants and needs and oddities are as incoherent as everything that enters and exits my brain here.
I know I'm coming home.
Mama says all will fall into place then, but I won't hold my breath.
Crisises, existential, midlife, or otherwise, aren't easily shaken off.
I don't mind being seen as pathetic anymore, since I'm well aware that I am.
I like saying, for all my faults, at least I'm open, and this place is trying to make me revert.
I'm becoming scared and passive again.
I'm becoming bitter and silent again.
I'm re-wearing the skin I thought I shed years ago.
And I do not like it one bit.
I would rather be skin-less than the thing I'm becoming again.
Though I'm ever-unsure, I'll go back and figure out the few things I'll know.
I'm seeking comfort in my roots, perhaps too much, even.
I know that much.
"I had a dream my life would be so different from this Hell I'm living-"
Pure pathetic nostalgia.
But I know I need it.
This isn't even what I'm supposed to be doing.
But I know when I'm dead and buried-
Or scattered or donated or whatever my form will be-
The sole remains of soul will be glad that I procrastinated my finals to write poetry.
Because poetry is the only thing in this whole wide world I'm perfectly content with.

'Summer 2013' by Ravyn LaRue

Good art can come from sadness, but there is power in happiness that I know I need to fight for and return to.
Last summer is the past I want to repeat-
I am Gatsby, in this wish, and I pray that it can be done.
Because now I am nowhere near the unadulterated joy that befell in those glorious days.
I must repeat that-
It was the crest of a high and beautiful wave and we were the hippies.
And now I am the writer, entirely alone at her typewriter.
Jaded, bitter, nostalgic, longing.
In those days we knew we were right and we knew things were beautiful.
And now I'm surrounded only by those we fought against.
And I cannot help but think they are winning.
But they cannot win, which is why I'm returning.
Because we have love- true and pure-
Or at least I think we do.
I felt it blazing hotter and brighter than the sun on those scorching days.
I felt it in the eyes of those I saw at my side onstage.
I felt it in our warm laughter as we cuddled on the sectional watching odd movies.
I felt it in the campfire glowing as I tried to tell ghost-stories so dear to my heart.
I felt it in the voice that said, "You truly love your friends, don't you?"
I felt it in my beating heart pressed against the ribcage parallel as we hugged.
I felt it as we plummeted from the sky, singing and screaming, as we had the summer prior.
I felt it last summer, so real and sincere that I cannot help but long for it, more than anything.
And I had my sorrows then, too.
People always have their sorrows.
Yet joy needs to prevail, otherwise a person is left like me, now-
Surrounded by cold wind trying to lock up my heart.
But I have to keep it, both open and safe.
Since I know, if things go back to how they were last summer-
Even if someone takes my heart from my ribcage, it will be kept safe.
Since I will be with beloveds again.
And though they say you can't repeat the past-
If I'm with my beloveds-
I'll have a future worth looking forward to.