It comes in the void of my chest,
In the silent dryness of my motionless lips,
In being seen and left alone,
Begging for attention, for a canvas
On which to paint my love in
Rainbow shades, then to be showered with foreign
Color: joy, guilt, lust, depression.

I want it all on me—to be the subject
Of one's art, to have it all
Flood my ears and hug my very
Existence—to have my body justified
By the gruesome secrets that hide.