Poetry Anthology
Lou Martin (they/them)
Lou is an 18-year old creative from Naarm. As a queer non-binary person having grown up in an unaccepting home, their poetry often comes from fairly dark, but real places, and whenever they are stuck in low episodes, they resort to writing them down. The thematic concerns of Lou’s poetry pieces are that of romance, love, loss, fear, self-hatred, homophobia and transphobia (internal and external), memories, anger and realization.
i’m just a boy
in a big city
full of people who look at nothing
to avoid looking at something.
people who are dizzy with what they’ve consumed;
screaming curse words down the street.
people who shudder at the noise; its too loud
shoving plugs in their ears to drown sound with more sound.
people who just can’t stop;
walking slow
blowing clouds of poison to help ease their mind,
they are trying
but you can smell their infection in the air.
people who are poor;
sitting on wet pavement holding their signs of tragedy
praying someone will have enough pity
to drop a pathetic 20 cents into the 7/11 coffee cup at their feet.
people who are lost,
they can’t care anymore
leaving their undone shoe laces to soak up the leftover rain on the floor.
people who don’t let passengers get off the tram before they get on;
they don’t know what will come next
adoring the spontaneity,
but unfamiliar to control.
the city is full of people.
and i am just a boy
listening to alanis morrisette
standing too close to the tram
planting my bare feet in pools of rain
hiding my screen from peering eyes
not knowing which side of the elevator will open.
with blurry blue eyes
i’m scanning the faces of the people in the big city
who look at nothing
to avoid looking at
me.
City.
ibirch wood brunette
those straight line teeth
forged the smile
the most brilliant hoax i’ve ever had the misfortune of knowing.
eyes of salt and freckle grain,
dots a map on your cheeks.
the map leads me back to you
circle me
round the globe
pondering your paper jaw
wondering what i’m supposed to feel.
what am i supposed to be.
you speak a tongue,
i am unfamiliar.
we are foreigners,
communicating with as much of
contradicting efforts.
you keep pushing
but i’m not pulling
we are not the ones.
you are not beautiful to me.
The Ones.