You make my life a scientific statement
If I pretend to be normal, Then I will be spared
But you lied to me
It was not as easy as you said it would be

My boyfriend doesn't understand you
I wonder if he hates you
He thinks you'll go away
I know you won't

My mother knows you live here
She sees you peeking out of my eyes
She hears you snicker when I get confused
I think she wants to be your friend

My father doesn't know you are here
I've never told him that you made me yours
But I know you'll introduce yourself
You don't like to not be known

My brother can comprehend you
He's seen you holding my hand for years
He knows how you whisper in my ear
Maybe he can hear you too

But I love you
You make laughter roll off my teeth
You make maps in my brain
It's not your fault that you're here
And I'd like you to stay

My father’s family is going to hate me
They hate me already
And they don’t even know
I’m a montage of people they hate

Come Christmas time the truth will be found
I am a Muslim
I am queer
I am a democrat
I am a girl with a shaved head

To many, these statements are not troubling
But to my family it means
I am a terrorist
I am a sinner
I am shameful
I am ugly

Everything they stand for hurts me
Loud insults thrown at me
Hushed gossip heard through doors
Why are they afraid
Why do they hate me

With every number I sense a color
Every shade of blue a different texture
All my feelings look different
And sounds never feel the same

If you tell me a word, any word
Ill answer with a description
Detail a world for you, you haven’t known
Or may even comprehend

Yesterday I smelled red
And started to taste rough rust
It felt tangy and bittersweet
And the sound of ships filled my ears

All of these sensations thrill me
And comfort me with detail
Yet why do I feel sorrow
Knowing that love is dark blue

We all are made up of these tales of terrible things that have happened to us, and we begin to identify ourselves by them

We start to believe that intimacy comes from letting other people hear these stories. That if they know what has happened to us, they will somehow have a deeper connection with us. And I guess we all just want someone to feel close to us.

But following this logic, every person who knows our personal sob story, knows us. However, I don't want to be known by what has happened to me.

By perceiving me by what other people have done to me, you are seeing me as a mess of internal wounds that haven't healed. Why do people feel the need to mentally mark me down. I want to be seen by what I have the potential to do. See me as the person on stage singing a piece from a beloved masterwork. See me as the girl who finds no fault in buying coffee alone. The young woman who almost loves wearing cardigans too much. What's the point in identifying me by something that I had no control over, just to see that your perspectives of me are irrelevant

What were you thinking when you started to believe that what has occurred to me by fault of others could possibly mean that I am less than I was before. If anything, I'm more. I've grown, my mind has expanded upon what I once believed were its limits. And for that, I'm thankful.

I find pictures of you
I tear up pictures of you
I cherish pictures of you
I find myself on the unforgivingly cold tile floor silently screaming as tears leak from my eyes like a dripping faucet because of pictures of you

I have pictures in my mind
I have a picture of you kissing my neck tenderly
I have a picture of you holding me
I have a picture of you whispering in my ear while we were at the park drinking in each other's affection

I have regrets
Regrets reminded when I see pictures of you
I regret never dancing with you
I regret being shallow
I regret being selfish
I regret blaming every mistake on you because I couldn't come to terms with myself

I burned every picture of you
Yet they won't leave the backs of my eyelids
I still can hear you whispering sweet words of comfort in my ear like you were my water in this hell

Yet as heart wrenching as it is to see pictures of you
It's even harder to picture you with me

From the moment I met you I knew that your bright hair and your caramel tinted eyes would be permanently burned into my mind. You told me your name and I recited it mentally over and over again until the taste of it sat upon my tongue like a lead weight that I could not ignore.

I tried in every way I could to spend time with you, to learn things about you that few would know. To have you hold me in your arms at night made me tremble and wish that I could call you mine but yet I was not fortunate enough to be the one you were in a relationship with.

Yes, the woman I love is enchanted by another's lips

But I will not forget that I was the one you pressed your body against when we were intoxicated and I could pretend for one night that you loved me the way I loved you. I will not forget when you admitted feelings that you had repressed, but your blood was drowning in alcohol, I doubt you remember a thing.

When I think of how my heart trembles for you, my lips purse with a longing, yours would turn into a straight line with distaste in your eyes.

You ask me why I smoke so many cigarettes. I wish I could tell you how I do it for the burn in my throat that drowns out the pain from the bile rising from my churning stomach because it has a hunger only your touch can satisfy.

The first time I cried over you, it was when I realised that I actually loved you. I cried because I knew that no matter what I do, you will Never feel the same.

In my mind it almost felt like a fairytale because I wanted it to to. But it is not a fairytale, fairytales have happy endings, and happy endings don't exist when only one person is in love.

This can't even be called a valid poem, because poems end. They're words told in different tongues and stories like this don't end, but Maybe it will taper off into a mild roar. At this point, I fear that this may be a blessing.