She wanders,
guided by her lost soul.
She spills arts,
coming from her pure heart;
She writes words no one can understand,
yet she speaks it like it was kept in her mind
for so long, just waiting for someone to find it.
She is a masterpiece of her own,
but she has a heart of stone.

Steady streams of reflections
kiss my weaknesses
and speak to all my struggles
dancing like leaves in the back of my mind.  
While the scent of happiness
breaks my heart
on unseen mountains
I attempt to climb.

Empty time of the whitest sand
keeps me awake
and runs with arrogance
across the stones of all my questions.
Still….I won’t say
what calls to my world,
or breathe a word, when you delight
in your burning suggestions.

I.
To be honest it's
a struggle to make connections sometimes.
People are
far away and
I'm a scared of
hurting.

I.
It's a little confusing how
I'm in so much physical pain
I cry sometimes.

II.
But sometimes when I'm
crying I want to
hurt myself.

I.
Don't hit your child
because of something they can
never control.

II.
If you aren't able to
raise someone
who's queer, disabled, or mentally
"Wrong", as you'd call it,
don't raise anyone at all.

III.
You can't expect your
idea of a perfect child.

I.
*******
****.

II.
I will do anything you tell me
to stop hurting
people.

III.
But you won't tell me
a ******* thing.