This desperate need to grasp a pen and
turn the chaos of my thoughts into
conceivable sins is
overpowering.

All these stories burned into my flesh
demand reparation and
the echoes from my past
still etched into my bones
ache for retribution which
is not mine to give.

Yet, still they continue to beg
for the relief of confession, to
be freed from the suffocating confines
of the abyss masquerading as
my mind.

But, I can't.
Not this time.
Some secrets should be left
to die alone in the dark.

Let me disappear off these mortal maps
          and become a citizen of the void.

Let me revel in the peace of decay,
          as my bones lay in the comforting embrace
          of the silent earth.

Let the stars steal the light
          from my eyes
          so that, even in my absence,
          I can still guide you home.

Let me fall brokenly upon death's door
          and leave nothing but a disintegrating stone
          to claim my ashes.

I don't care how steep the price,
          please, just
                          let me leave and
                                     don't ask me to come back.

There is a disconnect between my body and my mind.
At least, that's what I tell people.
Because I find it easier to admit
that I am broken
than to open myself to their ridicule
as I try to explain asexuality
one more time.

It's hard, to describe an absence
of something you've never felt
to those for whom it defines their existence.
I don't understand their resistence,
logic dictates that just because one thing is true,
that doesn't eliminate the validity
of it's reflection.
It has become this society's obession
to portray us only as a lie, a
sickness you are lucky not to be infected with.

Though I am still struggling to find my voice
and understand my own mind,
I am sure of one thing:
I am not BrOkEn.
And if you are like me, please,
don't let your pride be stolen,
because neither are you...