.


The wind, it gusts upon my face
Across my lips the breeze does trace
In images I can’t replace
The perfect love of you

The rain, is wet upon my skin
So precious as it does begin
Bringing to my mind again
The perfect love of you

The sun, now bright within my eyes
Aglow across these April skies
Once again I realize
The perfect love of you

The moon, does shine this springtime night
Sending forth its wondrous light
Floating me in pristine flight
The perfect love of you

For everyday these sights I see
Affection formed of destiny
Whispered thoughts for only me
*The perfect love of you

If I wasn't gay would people care?
Would they actually let me breath the same air?
Could I actually go to school,
without people being so cruel?
Could I live in a world with no hate?
Maybe people would love me if I was straight.
It's not as easy as people think.
I can't just go to a shrink.
I didn't choose to be this way.
You really think I'd want to be gay?
I don't want attention,
I don't want fame.
This isn't some sort of game.
I am who I am and thats okay.
Most people don't see it that way.
I only wish I could be the same.
To have a wedding and it not be shamed.
I want to have kids and not be judged.
I don't want my reputation smudged.
But apparently I'm different now.
Sick in the head somehow.
Therapy and shock treatment for something that can't be fixed.
How did I get put into this mix?
Toxic and tragic,
that's my life.  
It's like I was stabbed in the back with a knife.
I'm gay,
what's wrong with that?
I get treated like some rat.
Using your holy books and your religion.
To fight against something that makes no difference.
I want to be a human not a punching bag.
Always getting called a ***.
Let that word have power and it gets to you.
But that words as good as whatever is stuck to the bottom of my shoe.
I love being this way.
I don't care what you say.

She kisses her scars
Amongst the dark of the night,
For the taste of blood,
Or the taste of self-love?

She drank the tears she cried,
For the drowning sensation,
Or the hope of a better fate?

While she lay empty on the grey-tiled floors that felt like the bottom of a *** bottle,
She only wonders,
Would this change anything?

How many more wounded soldiers before the battle is dead?
How many more tradgic memories need to be burned into innocent minds?

How many more terrible poems before I get a better grasp on humanity?

Tossing and turning
Counting the hours with the clock
Where are you, Morpheus?

***** being a princess,
because we are tired of waiting to be rescued,
don't wait,
don't hesitate to tell him,
you don't need him to tell you that your beautiful
be the *****,
be the one that is strong,
tell him, hes wrong to say
Baby im all that you need
you have more indeed,
you have that girl power,
that one that has wings,
that sings,
even when it stings the most,
don't let tears make you weak
speak up,
tell them *you can
tell them I am
tell him *baby I know what im worth

you have done wrong
you know it
you hate it
you cannot undo it

how do you cope with it
how can you
look at your face in the mirror
and live with it
  
how can you heal
the pain and hurt you caused
the wrongs you did

guilt is a dangerous friend
strong for some time
full with repetant deeds
   you go widely out of your ways
   to make up for past mistakes

yet over time
this may become a habit insincere
  you do the proper things
  but in your heart
  the hope diminishes
that they will show
   eventually
an exit from the past
   into a brighter future

leaving you
   stranded
in a world threatened by fake remorse
   where penitence becomes routine
   the rituals of asccusation and defense
play themselves out like in a loop
   in endless repetition
    without relief

the pain you caused
the wrongs you did
are thrown up in your face
with unrelenting fury
each time a knife
   twisting in slow motion
   right in your heart

each twist draws blood
and gradually you feel
   your lifeblood flow away
with each renewed attack
   determined will
   suffers another blow

temptation to give up
grows stronger and
   at times
seems like the way
   to ease
   tormented souls
   to break
   the self-destructive circle

if you fight on
   a battered knight
   in shredded armor
it is not out of guilt
but out of love
   that wants to heal the wounds
   you cut in selfish moments
out of responsibility
   for what you did
of which you are ashamed
and cannot love yourself
until she loves you back

   again

          * *