Today I am wearing
One of my father's neckties.
I know it might be a red herring
But it reminds me of him, so I look past all those lies.

It is a pink one,
With silver diamonds scattered.
I think it's rather fashionable
So, caring about others’ hasn't mattered.

I don it with a navy jacket
Just like the ‘ol days: suit & tie.
I’m not here to make a racket
About it, but just to state a point, I cry!

I am a femme fatale
Not a butch,
Rose-gold sneakers attire
Or coloured-heels as such.

It always gets a comment,
Sometimes a whistle or two.
I never thought I was attractive
But these feels, while I’m wearing them, surely do ensue.

you, who keep singing
a song after leaving the
room — coming back and
picking up where you left off —
like you never even left

the keyboard speaks
and I am silent
but we are joined
at the fingertips.

I cough words
onto a page,
and hold it up to the world.
They call it art, they call it poetry.

Invariably,
You prefer to come
To me in the dark.
"You're more my temperature then,"
You once said.
I'm not much of a thermometer,
But I am the eurythmy
To each syllable you give
In such settled shadow.
A play of murmurs and fingertips,
You once named this.
Always I see a wreath in your hair,
In colors of Persia,
Textures of night,
And the soft blended lines
Of you I know
Infallibly.

I have things I absolutely cannot do.
I swear it is not a lie but 100% true.

I cannot message strangers online.
Have caused trouble time after time.

I cannot be alone near fire.
Please don't ask why.

I can only watch certain shows.
Everything below TV14.

I can not walk around alone.
Need someone with me.