Can you hear me?
I come to you now,
birthed in the granite chaos
of your mind,
in the forgotten scars
of your heart.

In the reverie
of a definite
composure
you’ve come to hate me-
for disrupting your balance,
for denying you stability
in the reckless way you require.

Please.
I wish to be heard,
to be endowed with your graciousness.

I hurt. I am hurting.
You see that.
I make you feel that.
And you hate me for it.

I will not apologize.
I will hold onto you tightly.

Together,
we are nothing short
of juniper-blushed skies
in the July monsoon-
tenderly raging.

Please.
I need recognition
so I too
am not released
into the decay
of all things.