“words don’t hurt.”
    They only build bridges to the most hidden isles of our being,
Bridges which illuminate our most hidden, self-hate, doubt and pain.
               & as our very being walks the hidden bridge,
                    They enrapture, take us down, into the dark abyss.
                         Pleading, begging, hurtful, angry words,
                              Pull us down, down, down, until we are submerged.
                                      Pointless words that entangle and drown you.
                                                   So, no they do not hurt,
                                                            They slowly ᴋɪʟʟ

Give me your hand, give me your love.
Give me your hand, while we dance in purgatory.
An insignificant event, a moment in time.
Maybe five minutes, that is all we will be.

Qualm my steady heart in this dance together,
a simple reminder of each second that passes muffled by heartbeat,
While “our” song plays, “our” insignificant song.
Maybe three minutes long, that is all we are.

You gaze into my eyes, and I peer in your soul.
Our names become lost; they no longer matter.
For our love, song and dance are lost in time,
For that is all we were, two lovers, insignificant, lost to 🆃🅸🅼🅴

His face obscure,
  but not hidden from your embrace,
     sweet unyielding radiant moon,
         I gaze upon your grace with jealousy,
               for I know upon your mirror,
                  he gazes in sweet reverie,
                       and the reflection he longs for,
                                is not me,
                                      but ᕼIᗰ

Longing for you,
  makes me contemplate.
     If this love is self hate.
         hate for a bird that can not sing.
            hate for a bird that wants to spread its wings.
                 hate for an ugly pigeon who dreams of being a dove.
you are everything
      I am ᑎOT

I used to hate the color brown,
   a constant reminder of marginalization
        of feeling innate. . .
            
But in brown. .
  you have red . . .
       yellow. . .
          &  blue. . .
             & every hue in-between

a gentle reminder,
     that brown is the dirt,
         that holds a field of flowers,
              so radiant, bright and colorful
                   which could not exist
                             without their foundation
                                    and with that
                                          I smile
                                                with ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ

When you lose everything,
    the saying goes "get back up and try again"
         but how do you get back up
            when every feeling, every word, of my past
                no longer exists in the physical world,
                     trying means being awake,
                        but I want to sleep,
                             for in dreams,
                                   I feel you,
                                   once more.

I used to envy others,
    and constantly ask why?
          but each time I asked why,
             a cut opened in my soul,
                  in endless cycle that would not heal.
It became unrecognizable,
      from my own Ⓐⓑⓤⓢⓔ