She was planted
just as the rest

"Why do I look different?"

She liked her tea,
but wanted company,
so she painted herself pink

She laughed at inside jokes
she was outside of,
nodded at words
she didn't know,
even said some of her own

"Please no one see I'm not the same"

She waited until next spring
every summer,
but every year,
had to paint herself pink

"I'm surely broken"
she believed
for too many years

"...to find the right seed"
"...just a late bloomer"
she heard

Next spring,
she learned her name

Parade tulip
in a field
of cherry blossom trees

"Is there somewhere
a someone
who will love me"
she wondered from time to time

but she still drank her tea,
and stopped painting herself pink

*** life gone conceptual
My loved one now asexual
Online erotica and poetry
Supports for monogamy
Relieving some tension
Building up the frustration
Mind set on one finality
Bring back her sexuality

When you can't figure yourself out,
You try
To be
Anyone
But yourself

Just to be loved

Sexuality is beautiful
It's the blossom of life
Painted deep beneath the trees
Stretching down past
The roots of our ancestors
But it's not in me
Not in my mind, at least
It's embedded in my bones
I breathe it and I sleep with it
But it does not haunt my dreams
Even when I'm touched
My mind remains wholly detached
Lost in my thoughts
Safe and locked inside my skull

Tumblr taught me lots of stuff
like how to call out someone's bluff,
how bones break from CPR,
and what exactly bronies are.
But deep inside that rabbit hole,
I hit upon some solid gold.
I live in a small town you see,
and I thought things were wrong with me.
But in my dark blue dashboard space,
I found there was a thing called "ace".
I had a 5-hour googling spree,
and I found that this name suited me.

Our worth is granted to us
By the sum of our lovers,
By how many times we have craved
Or been craved,
By how much our skin longs
For another’s touch.

We are taught to withhold,
And to not take for granted
The immense altruism of company.
Where do we belong
If not in the arms of another?

How dare we for a minute
Accept our own love as enough.
How dare we seek comfort
In our own searching minds.
How dare we think of ourselves as anything other
Than a half in search of the whole.

He tried to remember what they looked like as he saw
Where her nails had sunken deep into the comforter
And where his sweat had flattened the sheets.  
And felt ***** just for looking,
Afraid that their memories could see him in the empty room.

How ******* dare they
Indulge in each other when all it becomes
Is a mess for someone else to notice?
Selfish, entitled, lucky
*******.

And he was ashamed
Because he was happy that he noticed what they did
And because he felt like he was there.
Something so **** about imaginary inclusion.
Is that what they wanted?

Changing the bedding felt like desecration,
Like tearing down the set of a Broadway play.
The show was for him,
The show was for the other,
Who taught them how to act?

It hurts to think
About their hollow bodies
Mashing together.
They’re fake-*** moans that the other customers
probably complained about to their
silent spouses.

It hurts to think
That they whispered the moment away
In their insecurities and
in-the-moment-living.  
Jesus, all for nothing.

And he started to cry,
Thinking about the heat that filled the room.
Letting his heaves mirror their motion, and
Then left,
Their passion still damp.