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I have met many feminists who were not Lesbians but I have never met a Lesbian who was not a feminist.

quote by Martha Shelley
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Lesbian Woman V 2

Rewrite/parody of the classic Pretty Woman

Lesbian woman stalkin' down my street
Lesbian woman, get away
You're the not I want to meet
Lesbian woman, I don't want you
Believe me
That's the truth
No one who looks as good as me could ever want someone like you
Mercy

Lesbian woman, won't you get away from me
Lesbian woman, surely you can't help but see
Lesbian woman, I'll make it as plain to you as can be
No matter how hard you try
There will never be a you and me

Lesbian woman, no I don't wanna stop a while
Lesbian woman, no I don't wanna talk a while
Lesbian woman, guaranteed you'll never get an orgasm out of me
Lesbian woman, no, no, no
Lesbian woman, just go away
Lesbian woman, you'll just have to move on and forget about me

'Cause I don't want you
My bible says it ain't right
Come on and understand please that there is no maybe
I really don't wannabe your baby
No, no, no
Lesbian woman, you won't be tappin' mine tonight

Lesbian woman, just walk on by
Lesbian woman, I don't give a damn if you cry
Lesbian woman, just walk away
Ok

That's the way it must be, ok
Go on home, it's late
And don't you dare try again tomorrow night

But wait, what is this I feel
What's happening to me?
Is she turning me on?
Is that what's happening to me?

[...] Read more

poem by Ramona Thompson
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Lesbian Woman-V 1

A rewrite/parody of the classic Pretty Woman

Lesbian woman prowling down your street
Lesbian woman, guaranteed I'm the kind of woman you're like to eat
Lesbian woman, you can believe me
It's the truth
No one could do you as good as me
Mercy

Lesbian woman, won't you come over and please me
Lesbian woman, surely you can't help but see
Lesbian woman, I know you must be as horny as me
So tell me baby
Are you hot and bothered tonight?
Just like me

Lesbian woman, lick me a while
Lesbian woman, rub me down a while
Lesbian woman, give the best of your breasts to me
Lesbian woman, oh oh oh
Lesbian woman, do me that way
Lesbian woman, say you'll spend the night with me

Cause I wanna sex you
I'll love you down right
Just say you'll come with me baby
Be mine tonight

Lesbian woman, don't walk on by
Lesbian woman, don't try to lie or deny
Lesbian woman, don't walk away
Ok

If that's the way you wanna be, ok
I guess I'll find another to take home, give them a red hot date
As for you
Baby you'll have another chance tomorrow night

But wait, what do I see?
Is she walking back to me?
Yeah, my baby is walking back to come onto to me
O-oh
Lesbian woman

[...] Read more

poem by Ramona Thompson
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Sappho to Phaon (Ovid Heroid XV)

Say, lovely youth, that dost my heart command,
Can Phaon's eyes forget his Sappho's hand?
Must then her name the wretched writer prove,
To thy remembrance lost, as to thy love?
Ask not the cause that I new numbers choose,
The Lute neglected, and the Lyric muse;
Love taught my tears in adder notes to flow,
And tun'd my heart to Elegies of woe,
I burn, I burn, as when thro' ripen'd corn
By driving winds the spreading flames are borne!
Phaon to Aetna's scorching fields retires,
While I consume with more than Aetna's fires!
No more my soul a charm in music finds,
Music has charms alone for peaceful minds.
Soft scenes of solitude no more can please,
Love enters there, and I'm my own disease.
No more the Lesbian dames my passion move,
Once the dear objects of my guilty love;
All other loves are lost in only thine,
Ah youth ungrateful to a flame like mine!
Whom would not all those blooming charms surprize,
Those heav'nly looks, and dear deluding eyes?
The harp and bow would you like Phoebus bear,
A brighter Phoebus Phaon might appear;
Would you with ivy wreath your flowing hair,
Not Bacchus' self with Phaon could compare:
Yet Phoebus lov'd, and Bacchus felt the flame,
One Daphne warm'd, and one the Cretan dame,
Nymphs that in verse no more could rival me,
That ev'n those Gods contend in charms with thee.
The Muses teach me all their softest lays,
And the wide world resounds with Sappho's praise.
Tho' great Alcaeus more sublimely sings,
And strikes with bolder rage the sounding strings,
No less renown attends the moving lyre,
Which Venus tunes, and all her loves inspire;
To me what nature has in charms deny'd,
Is well by wit's more lasting flames supply'd.
Tho' short my stature, yet my name extends
To heav'n itself, and earth's remotest ends.
Brown as I am, an Ethiopian dame
Inspir'd young Perseus with a gen'rous flame;
Turtles and doves of diff'ring hues unite,
And glossy jet is pair'd with shining white.
If to no charms thou wilt thy heart resign,
But such as merit, such as equal thine,
By none, alas! by none thou canst be mov'd,
Phaon alone by Phaon must be lov'd!
Yet once thy Sappho could thy cares employ,
Once in her arms you center'd all your joy:

[...] Read more

poem by Alexander Pope
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They Use to Be in The Closet

Mommy...
What are illegal lesbians?
'No, honey...
They are aliens.'

So the aliens are lesbians?
'No, baby...
The lesbians are legal.
But the aliens are not.'

So...?
Who are the homosexuals?
'Well...
That's a tough one.
At one time,
They use to be in the closet.
Today...
You can't tell who's what!
Or what's going on!
Whether they are downlow in the closet...
Or out tossing balls to one another.'

Oh you mean like daddy and Uncle Ray?
I see them doing that all the time in the garage.
So far I've collected $50 to keep my mouth shut!
That's when Uncle Ray told me...
He was an illegal lesbian.
And they laughed!
Mommy?
Why are you lookiing at me like that?

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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There are lesbians, God knows... if you came up through lesbian circles in the forties and fifties in New York... who were not feminist and would not call themselves feminists.

quote by Audre Lorde
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A Gentlemans view

I hold the door open for you
a simple act of courtesy
This any gentleman would do.
To you I act insultingly.

Because you simply do not know
how a true lady should react
and the hostility you show.
Just demonstrates this sorry fact.

How sad it is this should be so
That Feminists can only see
Politeness as another blow
against their female dignity.

A lady knows how to accept
such a proffered courtesy
She feels entitled to expect
to be treated courteously

I do not say that feminists
cannot be ladies. I dare not
I am quite sure some must exist
In my experience not a lot

I will still act the gentleman
I know that ladies understand
I act this way to show I can
Be as polite as any man.

So if my manners cause offence
It is something I regret.
But perhaps I might influence
Some feminists so they forget.

Their attitude towards all men
is fuelled by their ignorance.
I hope that they will think again
There might just be the slightest chance.

I recognise equality
I merely choose to be polite
If you prefer hostility
It is your choice you have the right.

11-Jun-07

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Afrikaans: Sterregordels, Stilsonjare, Tydsbroekspypdinge, Haarsliert

Sterregordels

Cosmology in Afrikaans is an ode to joy, the
terms form sing-song strings with delightful
sounds “ewigbewegende elektron”
continuously spinning electron

“elektron in die hart van die atoomkorrel”
electron in the centre of the atom particle
- what a song!

“Triljoene Melkwegstelsels waaromheen ons
Melkweg elke tweehonderdmiljoenjaar
wentel – ‘n mallemeule van sterregordels…”

“Dobberende patrone, mesone en elektrone,
'n konfigurasie van konvekse novae”…

- these terms are singing to me!

A merry-go-round of star systems

Quotes from Adriaan Snyman “Die Messias Kode” (The Messiah Code) pp.9,10

Bombardement Van Frekwensies (English Explanation)

Waarmee sal ek hierdie leë oomblikke,
ankerloos, betekenisloos; aan die ewigheid
vasmaak - die gevoelsruimte in my hart

Is leeg, alle gevoel en denke het gesamentlik
in die donker duisternis van my brein ingeval
‘n laserbrein wat die hologramwêreld

Self moet konsituteer uit ‘n bombardement
van betekenislose frekwensies – maar
vandag is die ligstraalfokus uit

My pendulumgedagtes swaai ongefokus rond
die opgerolde, ingevoude ses-en-twintig of
meer dimensies van die virtuele werklikheid

Wil nie vir my oopgaan nie…

All thought and feeling fell into the black hole in my brain and the twenty-six or more rolled-up frequencies of reality does not want to open for me today…

Geloof In Liefde - Faith In Love

[...] Read more

poem by Margaret Alice
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The so-called feminist writers were disgusted with me. I did my thing, and so I guess by feminist standards I'm a feminist. That suits me fine.

quote by Chrissie Hynde
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Living a Lie

Everyday i wake up lying to myself
Everyday i wake up denying who i am

For the sake of my father
He hates who i am
He hates the fact that i'm a lesbian

But i'm living a lie
I lie to myself everytime i say
That i'm not a lesbian

I'm living a lie
and i can't stand it
It's driving me insane

I wish i could stop lying to myself
I wish he could appcept me

and not just see me for a lesbian,
but for who i really am
but he won't because i'm living a lie
and he doesn't know it

poem by Brandi Young
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Pharsalia - Book VIII: Death Of Pompeius

Now through Alcides' pass and Tempe's groves
Pompeius, aiming for Haemonian glens
And forests lone, urged on his wearied steed
Scarce heeding now the spur; by devious tracks
Seeking to veil the footsteps of his flight:
The rustle of the foliage, and the noise
Of following comrades filled his anxious soul
With terrors, as he fancied at his side
Some ambushed enemy. Fallen from the height
Of former fortunes, still the chieftain knew
His life not worthless; mindful of the fates:
And 'gainst the price he set on Caesar's head,
He measures Caesar's value of his own.

Yet, as he rode, the features of the chief
Made known his ruin. Many as they sought
The camp Pharsalian, ere yet was spread
News of the battle, met the chief, amazed,
And wondered at the whirl of human things:
Nor held disaster sure, though Magnus' self
Told of his ruin. Every witness seen
Brought peril on his flight: 'twere better far
Safe in a name obscure, through all the world
To wander; but his ancient fame forbad.

Too long had great Pompeius from the height
Of human greatness, envied of mankind,
Looked on all others; nor for him henceforth
Could life be lowly. The honours of his youth
Too early thrust upon him, and the deeds
Which brought him triumph in the Sullan days,
His conquering navy and the Pontic war,
Made heavier now the burden of defeat,
And crushed his pondering soul. So length of days
Drags down the haughty spirit, and life prolonged
When power has perished. Fortune's latest hour,
Be the last hour of life! Nor let the wretch
Live on disgraced by memories of fame!
But for the boon of death, who'd dare the sea
Of prosperous chance?

Upon the ocean marge
By red Peneus blushing from the fray,
Borne in a sloop, to lightest wind and wave
Scarce equal, he, whose countless oars yet smote
Upon Coreyra's isle and Leucas point,
Lord of Cilicia and Liburnian lands,
Crept trembling to the sea. He bids them steer
For the sequestered shores of Lesbos isle;
For there wert thou, sharer of all his griefs,

[...] Read more

poem by Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
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Shedding Girdles

Shedding girdles and their padded bras
the early feminists all sought equality,
but women have returned to pick-up bars
to prove their serious interest in frivolity.
Now things are plus ça change, and déjà vu,
as leather skirts are getting shorter and much tighter,
and décolleté’s the favorite point of view,
and every day the outlook seems to be far brighter,
as men stand tall, by women given headroom,
and feminists have been defeated and admonished,
while women now are focused on the bedroom,
with prejudice against male chauvinists abolished.

Inspired by Maureen Dowd’s article in the NYT of October 30,2005 cited in my poem “Lovetime”.

10/30/05

poem by Gershon Hepner
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Voice Of A Dalit Women

now hear the unheard cries
of dalit women plight
upper caste takes pride
humanity here despise
seeing the cruelty dies
of high caste females crucify
mercilessly their own gender
in the name of caste blunder
mutely supporting the plunder
of dalit women, who wonder
the silence of own gender
on the sight of feminity
in the board day light
paraded naked in their own vicinity
raped, ravished and trampled
no doubt upper caste feminity
is skin deep only
else they would have fought
for their feminine right
to live life free of fright
alas! they are caste blind
to see their mutual bind
feminists too are not so kind
to raise voice against the crime
however will burn candles
and raise issue nation wide
on death of upper caste women
died enjoying night party
such feminists who glee
in distributing pink panty
for women’s right to party
awfully ignores humiliating death
suffered by dalit women daily
story of dalit women is grim
suffers discrimination all time
as a female and a lower caste being
though struggling through adversities
if succeed to come out of the rim
aristocrat high caste vultures deem
her hopes nothing but dream
ever preying on her virtuosity
that dominates their caste superiority
arising dalit women suffers subtly
high caste people discriminating policy
based on caste as well gender inferiority
where majority prays and swears by female deity
but treat dalit women mere commodity
nation egotist in its democracy
fails to notice caste discrepancy
dalit women should now be their own saviors

[...] Read more

poem by Rahul Gade
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Mr. Darcy

Is Obama Mr. Darcy,
fighting prejudice with pride,
or is it simply that he’s classy,
superior, and rarely snide?
Until with Hillary he dances
as Darcy would not with Miss Bennet
he’ll not succeed Bill with romances
in the White House, and the Senate
will be the only place where he
can demonstrate, while laughing at
himself, that he’s not truly lost in
a world where every Democrat
must be more feminist than Austen.
Though pride’s abominable, it
is far less reprehensible
than sensibility sans wit
in women who aren’t sensible.

Inspired by Maureen Dowd’s Op-Ed article in the NYT on August 3,2008 (“Mr. Darcy Comes Courting”:
It is a truth universally acknowledged that Barack Obama must continue to grovel to Hillary Clinton’s dead-enders, some of whom mutter darkly that they will not only not vote for him, they will never vote for a man again. Obama met for an hour Tuesday with three dozen top Hillaryites at a hotel here, seeking their endorsement and beguiling their begrudging. He opened the session by saying that he knew there had been frustration about what they saw as sexism during the primary. The Los Angeles Times reported that Hillary die-hards want to enshrine a whine in the Democratic platform about how the primaries “exposed pervasive gender bias in the media” and call on party leaders to take “immediate and public steps” to denounce any perceived bias in the future. That is one nutty idea. Perhaps it is because feminists are still so busy cataloging past slights to Hillary that they have failed to mount a vivid defense of Michelle Obama, who has taken over from Hillary as the one conservatives like to paint as a harridan….
The odd thing is that Obama bears a distinct resemblance to the most cherished hero in chick-lit history. The senator is a modern incarnation of the clever, haughty, reserved and fastidious Mr. Darcy. Like the leading man of Jane Austen and Bridget Jones, Obama can, as Austen wrote, draw “the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien....he was looked at with great admiration for about half the evening, till his manners gave a disgust which turned the tide of his popularity; for he was discovered to be proud, to be above his company, and above being pleased.” The master of Pemberley “had yet to learn to be laught at, ” and this sometimes caused “a deeper shade of hauteur” to “overspread his features.” The New Hampshire debate incident in which Obama condescendingly said, “You’re likable enough, Hillary, ” was reminiscent of that early scene in “Pride and Prejudice” when Darcy coldly refuses to dance with Elizabeth Bennet, noting, “She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me.” Indeed, when Obama left a prayer to the Lord at the Western Wall in Jerusalem, a note that was snatched out and published, part of his plea was to “help me guard against pride.” If Obama is Mr. Darcy, with “his pride, his abominable pride, ” then America is Elizabeth Bennet, spirited, playful, democratic, financially strained, and caught up in certain prejudices. (McCain must be cast as Wickham, the rival for Elizabeth’s affections, the engaging military scamp who casts false aspersions on Darcy’s character.) In this political version of “Pride and Prejudice, ” the prejudice is racial, with only 31 percent of white voters telling The New York Times in a survey that they had a favorable opinion of Obama, compared with 83 percent of blacks. And the prejudice is visceral: many Americans, especially blue collar, still feel uneasy about the Senate’s exotic shooting star, and he is surrounded by a miasma of ill-founded and mistaken premises. So the novelistic tension of the 2008 race is this: Can Obama overcome his pride and Hyde Park hauteur and win America over? Can America overcome its prejudice to elect the first black president? And can it move past its biases to figure out if Obama’s supposed conceit is really just the protective shield and defense mechanism of someone who grew up half white and half black, a perpetual outsider whose father deserted him and whose mother, while loving, sometimes did so as well? Can Miss Bennet teach Mr. Darcy to let down his guard, be more sportive, and laugh at himself?

8/3/08

poem by Gershon Hepner
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Till I Met You

(odette quesada)
I never dream
cause I always thought that dreaming was for kids
Just a childish thing
And I could swear
Love was just a game that children play
And no more than a game
Till I met you
I never knew what love was
Till I met you
This feeling seems to grow more everyday
I love you more each day
I believe you
I believe in every word when you say
I love you all the way
Now I can swear
Love is not a game that children play
So tell me that youll stay
Till I met you
I never knew what love was
Till I met you
This feeling seems to grow more everyday
I love you more each day...ohhh
You and I should be together
Cant you see, cant you see
(instrumental)
Till I met you
I never knew what love was
Till I met you
This feeling seems to grow more everyday
I love you more each day
Till I met you
I never knew what love was
Till I met you
This feeling seems to grow more everyday
I love you more each day
Till I met you
Till I met you
Till I met you
Till I met you
Till I met you...

song performed by Lea Salonga
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The Iliad: Book 9

Thus did the Trojans watch. But Panic, comrade of blood-stained
Rout, had taken fast hold of the Achaeans and their princes were all
of them in despair. As when the two winds that blow from Thrace- the
north and the northwest- spring up of a sudden and rouse the fury of
the main- in a moment the dark waves uprear their heads and scatter
their sea-wrack in all directions- even thus troubled were the
hearts of the Achaeans.
The son of Atreus in dismay bade the heralds call the people to a
council man by man, but not to cry the matter aloud; he made haste
also himself to call them, and they sat sorry at heart in their
assembly. Agamemnon shed tears as it were a running stream or cataract
on the side of some sheer cliff; and thus, with many a heavy sigh he
spoke to the Achaeans. "My friends," said he, "princes and councillors
Of the Argives, the hand of heaven has been laid heavily upon me.
Cruel Jove gave me his solemn promise that I should sack the city of
Troy before returning, but he has played me false, and is now
bidding me go ingloriously back to Argos with the loss of much people.
Such is the will of Jove, who has laid many a proud city in the dust
as he will yet lay others, for his power is above all. Now, therefore,
let us all do as I say and sail back to our own country, for we
shall not take Troy."
Thus he spoke, and the sons of the Achaeans for a long while sat
sorrowful there, but they all held their peace, till at last Diomed of
the loud battle-cry made answer saying, "Son of Atreus, I will chide
your folly, as is my right in council. Be not then aggrieved that I
should do so. In the first place you attacked me before all the
Danaans and said that I was a coward and no soldier. The Argives young
and old know that you did so. But the son of scheming Saturn endowed
you by halves only. He gave you honour as the chief ruler over us, but
valour, which is the highest both right and might he did not give you.
Sir, think you that the sons of the Achaeans are indeed as unwarlike
and cowardly as you say they are? If your own mind is set upon going
home- go- the way is open to you; the many ships that followed you
from Mycene stand ranged upon the seashore; but the rest of us stay
here till we have sacked Troy. Nay though these too should turn
homeward with their ships, Sthenelus and myself will still fight on
till we reach the goal of Ilius, for for heaven was with us when we
came."
The sons of the Achaeans shouted applause at the words of Diomed,
and presently Nestor rose to speak. "Son of Tydeus," said he, "in
war your prowess is beyond question, and in council you excel all
who are of your own years; no one of the Achaeans can make light of
what you say nor gainsay it, but you have not yet come to the end of
the whole matter. You are still young- you might be the youngest of my
own children- still you have spoken wisely and have counselled the
chief of the Achaeans not without discretion; nevertheless I am
older than you and I will tell you every" thing; therefore let no man,
not even King Agamemnon, disregard my saying, for he that foments
civil discord is a clanless, hearthless outlaw.
"Now, however, let us obey the behests of night and get our suppers,

[...] Read more

poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
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Helpless Dancer

(rogers theme) when a man is running from his boss
(rogers theme) when a man is running from his boss
Who hold a gun that fires cost
Who hold a gun that fires cost
And people die from being cold
And people die from being cold
Or left alone because theyre old
Or left alone because theyre old
And bombs are dropped on fighting cats
And bombs are dropped on fighting cats
And childrens dreams are run with rats
And childrens dreams are run with rats
If you complain you disappear
If you complain you disappear
Just like the lesbians and queers
Just like the lesbians and queers
No one can love without the grace
No one can love without the grace
Of some unseen and distant face
Of some unseen and distant face
And you get beaten up by blacks
And you get beaten up by blacks
Who though they worked still got the sack
Who though they worked still got the sack
And when your soul tells you to hide
And when your soul tells you to hide
Your very right to die denied
Your very right to die denied
And in the battle on the streets
And in the battle on the streets
You fight computers and receipts
You fight computers and receipts
And when a man is trying to change
And when a man is trying to change
But only causes further pain
But only causes further pain
You realize that all along
You realize that all along
Something in us going wrong...
Something in us going wrong...
You stop dancing.
You stop dancing.

song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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Shut Up

I'm Jimmy Pop here in a jiffy heat me up and add oil
I'm like a zit a wart a corn a cyst a festering boil
I get under your skin and I sebaceously form
I'm as deep as the plot to an amateur gay porn
Keep ya hungry for more like Bangladesh
Then I'll borg di borg do borg ya like the Swedish Chef
Cause I'm one of a kind and kind of hard to find
Kind of like an Injun without his fire water wine
I'm like Schneider one day at a time
I'm feeling like Bob Vila nailing up your behind
To my wall like Daniel-son does
I'm waxing on I'm waxing off I'm waxing just because
I get wired like a Western Union and I got to be me
And I got more balls than the daily lottery
Like hemorrhoidal itch yo you can't ignore me
Cause I'm more tongue and cheek than a lesbo orgy
And I don't give a damn if you don't like me
Cause' I don't like you cause you're not like me
And I don't give a damn if you don't like me
Cause' I don't like you cause you're not like me
And I don't give a damn if you don't like me
Cause' I don't like you cause you're not like me

Second verse is different from the first

I'm Jimmy Pop I am
Jimmity Jimmity Pop I am I am
See my name's not Hoover and I don't give a damn
And I got a different angle like a parellelogram
And you'll be all ears like a field of corn
I'll make you Dizzy like Gillespie as I toot my own horn
Like a No. 2 pencil I always got a point
You'll want to share it with friends like a poorly rolled joint
I'm Jimmy Pop y'all I'm Jimmy Pop y'all I'm an Alka Seltzer that's right you're a seagull
As I continue to expand your head is gonna burst
Leave a bad taste in your mouth like moldy Liverwurst
Like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre I'll get in your face
But then I'll brush you off like Aqua-Fresh toothpaste
Cause I'm letting off steam like a Chinese Laundromat
But I'm not a roll of Charmin so don't give me no crap
And I don't give a damn if you don't like me
Cause' I don't like you cause you're not like me
And I don't give a damn if you don't like me
Cause' I don't like you cause you're not like me
And I don't give a damn if you don't like me
Cause' I don't like you cause you're not like me

I hate a lot of whites and I hate a lot of blacks
I hate poopin' in public places but we all hate that
I hate lesbian feminists because they're all so damn ugly

[...] Read more

song performed by Bloodhound Gang from One Fierce Beer Coaster
Added by Lucian Velea
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Rolling In The Deep

There's a fire starting in my heart
Reaching a fever pitch, it's bringing me out
the dark
Finally I can see you crystal clear
Go 'head and sell me out and I'll lay your
ship [shit] bare
See how I leave with every piece of you
Don't underestimate the things that I will
do
There's a fire starting in my heart
Reaching a fever pitch
And it's bringing me out the dark
The scars of your love remind me of us
They keep me thinking that we almost had
it all
The scars of your love, they leave me
breathless
I can't help feeling
We could have had it all
(You're gonna wish you never had met me)
Rolling in the deep
(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)
You had my heart inside of your hand
(You're gonna wish you never had met me)
And you played it, to the beat
(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)
Baby, I have no story to be told
But I've heard one on you
And I'm gonna make your head burn
Think of me in the depths of your despair
Make a home down there
As mine sure won't be shared
(You're gonna wish you never had met me)
The scars of your love remind me of us
(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)
They keep me thinking that we almost had
it all
(You're gonna wish you never had met me)
The scars of your love, they leave me
breathless
(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)
I can't help feeling
We could have had it all
(You're gonna wish you never had met me)
Rolling in the deep
(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)
You had my heart inside of your hand
(You're gonna wish you never had met me)
And you played it, to the beat
(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)

[...] Read more

poem by Pawan Kumar 'Meonlafesta'
Added by Poetry Lover
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Women who love women are Lesbians. Men, because they can only think of women in sexual terms, define Lesbian as sex between women.

quote by Rita Mae Brown
Added by Lucian Velea
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There is so much work to be done to treat gays and lesbians and gay and lesbian couples with the respect that they're entitled to. They deserve, in my judgment, partnership benefits. They deserve to be treated fairly when it comes to adoption and immigration.

quote by John Edwards
Added by Lucian Velea
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