Longing for you,
  makes me contemplate.
     If this love is self hate.
         hate for a bird that can not sing.
            hate for a bird that wants to spread its wings.
                 hate for an ugly pigeon who dreams of being a dove.
you are everything
      I am ᑎOT

I used to hate the color brown,
   a constant reminder of marginalization
        of feeling innate. . .
            
But in brown. .
  you have red . . .
       yellow. . .
          &  blue. . .
             & every hue in-between

a gentle reminder,
     that brown is the dirt,
         that holds a field of flowers,
              so radiant, bright and colorful
                   which could not exist
                             without their foundation
                                    and with that
                                          I smile
                                                with ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ

When you lose everything,
    the saying goes "get back up and try again"
         but how do you get back up
            when every feeling, every word, of my past
                no longer exists in the physical world,
                     trying means being awake,
                        but I want to sleep,
                             for in dreams,
                                   I feel you,
                                   once more.

I used to envy others,
    and constantly ask why?
          but each time I asked why,
             a cut opened in my soul,
                  in endless cycle that would not heal.
It became unrecognizable,
      from my own Ⓐⓑⓤⓢⓔ

Beautiful sunlight,
  and sunrays which ooze life,
      a tranquil reminder of another day,
          another day I wished for it all to end.
               Beautiful Moonlight,
                   whose rays you can not escape,
                      a constant reminder of my jealousy and hate.
                          another day I looked towards the stars,
                           only to outline your smile so intoxicating and bright.

So I said to the Moon, The Sun and the Stars
      " Why do you mock me?"
               then came the reply through the rain,
                   each drop , never alone
                        a mocking reminder
                            I am αʅσɳҽ. . .

Blood stained sheets,
   the smell of **** and ****,
      creases in white linen , never looked so colorful
          endless rivers of tears and anguish,
              dreary flowers in drool stains,
                    if sheets could talk. . .
                        they would beg "please stop"
                            above a never ending bedrock of old mattress springs,
                               that groin and creak,
                                   a tectonic shift of emotions,
                                         disturbed by a thunderous voice
                                               " clean yourself up, sorry"

a reminder you had your way. . .
         -ŘÃƤẸ

Ay mi amor,
  sangre de mis venas,
     lleno de amor
       por la patria
          las legendes de ridículo
              Comida de de los indios
ay mi amor
    lloro por ti,
        por el dia
           que visito los montes
               con su monasterios,
                   de dios. . .