Read the poems. Feel the grit. Come as you are.
New drops weekly from Adam Rye™ — queer country confessions in bold baritone verses.
This is where I write it like I lived it—loud, femme, country-soft, and fully uncloseted.
Poems about church trauma, queer joy, bad dates, good weed, chosen family, and the long-ass road to being okay.
It’s all real. It’s all mine. And if you’ve ever felt like too much or not enough, maybe it’s a little yours too.
Raw, healing, messy, and holy in the way I say so.
Still Here
I’ve got poems now. And a mustache that makes children stare. And a mullet that has seen more healing than your whole church retreat.
Whom Shall I Fear?
A queer reckoning in verse — challenging false fears, political hypocrisy, and evangelical harm. This poem fights back with truth, sass, and spark.
I Thought I Was Healed
I raised my hands like that would fix it. Worship team, front row, graphic‑tee collection on display—My Bad under the apple bite, retro puns plastered across my chest, sweating out the gay in every seam.
To the Healers Who Never Healed Me
For the altar calls. The prayer circles. The hands pressed heavy on my back like they were trying to pin me to the faith.
This poem is for every queer kid told to close their eyes and wait for God to fix them. You're not broken. You never needed their altar.