I’ve never known love,
Although I’ve loved fiercely,
Always being the caged dove,
With wings damaged severely.

Through the dark, two lights were shining bright,
Those were your eyes,
In me they ignite,
A fire leading to my demise.

You sank your teeth into my heart,
And left me bleeding,
My world has fallen apart,
With you on its throne, leading.

Your apathy is killing me,
Tell me, how can you be so cruel?
Ignoring my plea,
As if I were a worthless jewel.

Roses, bullets, and a Bible
Guided my life
A shine for my light
My happiness was never trifle
My smile was bright
My heart was kind

   Roses, bullets, and a Bible
   Blind my light
   Pervert my sight
   Not prepared for Blue
   Not by a mile
   But lost, through and through
   Youth's too cruel
      
      Roses, bullets, and a Bible
      Broken shards
      Build my scars
      Happiness is only trifle
      But maybe I'm still good
      I hope I can still be good

I understand your taste for meat
But is your thirst for blood so cheap?
Your hunt so deep?
Your drop so steep?
So absent is your love for me?
You'd feast on your own family?

The Messes We Leave
                                                             The Cats You Dump on My Door

There’s a black plastic bag sleeping in a tree
And an orange cat who treads beneath it,
Flinching at
The jack-o-lantern grins
That the coyotes give
As they prowl about at night.

                                                           Even after we take him inside,
                                                                             He’s often so scared
                                                                     Wide-eyed and meowing
                                        Like these new owners will leave him too.

There’s a whole litter
Gone in scattered bones
Except for one who watches from rooftops and trees.

                                                                  He never meows, that one,
                                             Never accepts the invitation to come in.

There’s a pregnant kitten
Barely more than skin,
And a white calico
Who stares at us with the same cunning eyes
That outwitted the wolves other pale cats did not.

             Those are the handful we tucked away behind these walls,
                                                                        The rest are not so lucky.
                                                     A pair of siblings who lost the third
                                          Two toms who yowl to each other at night,
                       Those are just the handful who survive still out there.
          Together, they are that small number out of countless dozens
                              Who disappeared under car tires and canine teeth.

Genderfluid
I am a girl, at least to everyone but me,
I am gay, and straight too, and both, and neither,
I do not want attention, I even try to avoid,
But you call me a she,
But I am changing, every day,

I cry when you know I am not so,
I am a boy today...I am gay
You don't notice, or care,
You just put more cuts on my wrist,
And hurt me more with every word...
"*****," you call with ease,
But you do not know, I am a boy today
"****," you say... I am a ******

Death my mind calls with every single word...
But you do not care, for you smile at my pain, as I call for my love,
"Dakota..."

There are moments when inside you is so wintery cold,
your night's secret is flipped over by the death's perfume,
you are in a turn, at one last intersection, but you're old,
wanting to **** the sadness, to let life once more bloom.

There are moments when you are so full of desire,
your destiny seems so cruel and you don't have the will
to heal your dark thoughts, the gloomy fears are on fire
but the cross, you have to carry it on your shoulders. Still.

Moments in which you spice up with nothings your existence,
you're satisfied with dead souls, with the remaining crumbs,
you run to the silence of the crying willow tree, for assistance,
you look at the mad fire from heaven... life hurts, death comes.

Moments when you're in front of the execution squad
without having one more chance to one last discussion,
you think that life is a mask worn in Venice, that it's a fraud,
the sky seems like a wallpaper of demons in combustion.

There are also moments when you want to start over,
to turn the book of anxiety into a beautifully painted panel,
you decide to meet your shadows in the valley of a loner,
thirsty for air, for life, you decide to change the channel.