My words now
Seem only
Adequate
But I cannot seem to adequately
Put into words
What I want to say.

User cannot be found.
I suppose it's better that way.
User cannot be found.
So I wouldn't try to say "Hey"
User cannot be found.
A hole grows larger in my heart.
User cannot be found.
This is absolutely tearing me apart.
User cannot be found.
I'm sustained by the memories I keep.
User cannot be found.
And by the dreams that haunt me in my sleep.
User cannot be found.
I hope you're doing alright.
User cannot be found.
And that someone is appreciating you, holding you tight.
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My gender
My ****** orientation
My disability
My problems
My colour of skin
My size
My voice
My place of origin
My clothes
My religion
My past
My mistakes
My label
Shouldn't be the determination of how you treat me

I’m gay I’m gay I’m gay I’m gay I'm gay
it kind of
spills off my tongue
when I don’t want it to
an
impulse
a
burning choke in my throat
falling out of me when I wish it would stay inside
when strangers are around
when
they really don’t need to know

it’s painted on my face
it’s written on the backs of my hands
my collarbone is burning white hot with a tell
and my eyes watering every secret of it

can they tell?
can everyone see right through me?
I’m
too scared to ask
somehow
also too scared to keep it inside

It wants out more than anything
but
she wants to be safe more than anything

I don't wear smiles
like clothes,
like you wear makeup

I don't choose in aisles,
in stores,
just for the occasion

You can try
and you'd fit right in my shoes
but I'd never fit in yours

I don't wear jewels
but I'd love
to wear your denial
mmm,
your scent for awhile...

when I began to write
poetry
all those years ago

I was amazed to find
that I even
had a voice.

It was a gift
that I never
hoped for.

I only shared light.

There is too much
darkness.

And then
little by little
I had to write
about the monsters
in the deep.

And my writing
got to be
unrecognizable.

Those couldn't be
my words.

Don't bury me
in a grave
in a big old box
I've known too much
darkness.

And so here I am
trying to balance
injury
with hope for a new future

That may be called
healing.

She has no mirror
but where flirt the leaves with the pond
she comes in the cool of noon
mixing the dark of her hair
with the summer shade
dipping into glass green water
her toes and far above
and all the pond sees
encrypts within the bubbles of rainbow
that only her clothes
swelled in awe
can read.