The tears streamed from your eyes
Like salty rivers on a quest;
They poured to the ground,
As your secret you confessed.
Your mother held her breath,
Stared at you with kindling, rampant rage;
"You are not a ******* boy,
This is just a phase."
She hides you from me,
Separating us from the intimacy that held us together;
Prevents us from experiencing our love in person,
It is so tender.
The days are passing,
You are hurting inside;
She insults you, blames you,
For being a girl who lies.
The knife inches toward you throat,
Your fingers aching to seal your fate;
But baby, look toward me,
It is never too late.
Hold onto this passion as if it
Is the very water to quench your thirst;
The very food to satiate your appetite,
Fulfill your mirth.
Boy of mine,
Your heart is pure.
Eventually you can slam
In her face the door.
Just hold on,
Take deep breaths;
Self-harm isn't a solution,
Neither is death.
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 11:49 PM UTC
The tears streamed from your eyes
Like salty rivers on a quest;
They poured to the ground,
As your secret you confessed.
Your mother held her breath,
Stared at you with kindling, rampant rage;
"You are not a ******* boy,
This is just a phase."
She hides you from me,
Separating us from the intimacy that held us together;
Prevents us from experiencing our love in person,
It is so tender.
The days are passing,
You are hurting inside;
She insults you, blames you,
For being a girl who lies.
The knife inches toward you throat,
Your fingers aching to seal your fate;
But baby, look toward me,
It is never too late.
Hold onto this passion as if it
Is the very water to quench your thirst;
The very food to satiate your appetite,
Fulfill your mirth.
Boy of mine,
Your heart is pure.
Eventually you can slam
In her face the door.
Just hold on,
Take deep breaths;
Self-harm isn't a solution,
Neither is death.
