My mom’s always been one to comment,
“Why do you let yourself be humiliated”
In response to my every cry of the rude, rude
words placed against me every day.
And when she’d ask, I’d be silent
without a proper, clean answer –
I know now.

That time I let my friends bind me to a bench once an embarrassing 2022,
use their blood-of-aphrodite cosmetics that stained my face with their factory ambrosia
all for the joke of it. A smudge of lip gloss cherry red (or blood red) on my mouth,
pointing up from the corners of my mouth making a smile (in truth a frown of regret) –
knowing **** well I would never let anyone do that to me
again. A promise I kept when I returned home that very day,
my hair sectioned into three tails that rose above my scalp into
palm trees – my mother worried for me and my future. A promise I broke to maintain
my friendships and social face within the walls of school.

No matter if it was positive or negative, faces crawling up in smiles or snickers among the
hallways, I wanted to be recognized.

My psyche status quo is crumbling like dust in my hands each minute,
powder blush – a cloud of identity has begun to form on my palms.
I feel bad for my mother, for how would she feel knowing that the son
she tamed so well, so masculine, not a hollow husk of vanitas
to be tempered with by the likes
of negative words.

Bona Glue-tainted lashes show their entirety and reveal remnants of humiliation,
how stupid actions now leave their stupid reminder.
They begged me to try them.
Once, twice, thrice – until I said yes to shut them up.
I remember my eyes being forced open like a
greedy man trying to receive the pearl he
swam deep in the ocean for, forcing the clam
to open.

If the clam doesn’t want to open, it doesn’t want to open.
Yet, I let them stain my nacre with their concept of “humor”
and the bullets of their insults instantly concealed by the same words every time:
“It’s just a ‘funny’ joke.”


My body is torn between respecting one another or myself, and I always ask myself:
“What’s there to respect about myself if people don’t like me?”
This toxic belief shaped into a vessel with  arms and legs, two big eyes, brown skin
(Not to be confused with the likes of curry, I’ve received one too many comments)
A face stuck in the yesteryears of people pleasing.

I let them come for my eyes, my skin, my nose, my lips
My cheeks, my teeth, my ears, down to my chin
My neck, my chest, my bony chest, to my skinny arms
that wrap their melanin membrane tightly around my bones, my fingers,
my weak joints, all the way back to my flat stomach, my waist, my hips,
my frail legs that can only carry me so far, my rocky knees, my swollen ankles,
my feet.
Anything to please those who use their tiny lens to gaze at my every part
To humiliate me is the attention I crave.

My body’s a canvas of ridiculement that hundreds have stained with words,
“You're too feminine,” “your ****** to hell for your personality.”
To change my name as I am insulting the many before
who held this torch of fire
To assume I’m gay for the very bits of difference
I hold as compared to the every boy in this ****** building
Their sporty builds, their bodies fit and lean, no bones to be seen
A knack for sports, a charisma unparalleled
Popularity rounds themselves around the same people copy pasted.

I always thought I had green eyes,
they are blue.
Envy has discoloured them
and obscured my true view.
Having now matured;
trauma, aging, greying (audible gasp),
healing is happening
in ways not anticipated
nor valued at first.
But now I am embracing
my blue eyes to see new.

These eyes of mine
They see everything

They see him helping his friends

They see her comforting her friends

They see them holding the door for everyone

They see her smiling at a strangers

They see him complimenting strangers

They see them looking so at ease

They see him craft with thought

They see her craft with care

And they see them in pretty pastel colors
Laying under the same setting sun

She gives him a scarf
It's his favorite color

He gives her a music box
It’s her favorite song

Why?
Why do I see tears on the mirror?
Why do I see…

Only me.

Just me.


Alone.

Overlooked, overworked, underpaid, with no gratitude. You yearn her presence but gripe about mine. "It's too hot, too bright." I'm never 'just right.' Without me, you couldn't survive, couldn't thrive in this life you call yours.

See how well she treats you. Her glow dissipates with my darkness. Envy runs through me. You don't deserve to see.

Nothing runs without me.

Wrath

No matter what I do or say,
I’m never enough, always a step away.
I try to keep up, wear myself thin,
But all I feel is the burn within.
If I could change, I swear I would,
But trying and failing still hurts, as it should.


Pride

In the mirror, I see a man undone,
Not proud, but broken, the lesser one.
No arrogance here, no smug facade,
Only a soul bruised, and left flawed.
Superior? No, I shrink from the view,
Hating myself far more than I do you.


Lust

Lust is a sneaky, seductive beast,
I’ve given in, but found no feast.
Those urges led to hollow roads,
But I broke free, shed those heavy loads.
Desire comes, but I’ve learned to be,
Unshackled, with a heart finally free.


Greed

I once held tight, refusing to share,
The world was mine, I didn’t care.
But time changed me, and now I see,
Greed’s lost its hold, no longer on me.
My hand is now open, I’ve learned to give,
Unburdened, I can finally live.


Envy

I used to ache for someone's life,
Trapped in longing, never satisfied.
Why not me? I’d wonder and weep,
Until something shifted, I could sleep.
Now I’m a man content with less,
Grateful in ways I never confess.


Gluttony

Food may not be my chosen vice,
I’ve drowned in pleasures, paid the price.
It is but the need to fill,
The endless void that lingers still.
This hunger for escape, it eats away,
But I know its tricks, it's clear as day.


Sloth

I set my goals, yet never reach,
Room to grow, but I don’t breach.
I drift through days, no purpose found,
A ghost in waiting, with silent sound.
What is my worth, what should I be?
I ache for meaning, to finally see.

It's frantic but soothing,
Romantic but brooding,
The Whispers of the sky that whirl the clouds,
Whisp within the broken hearts,
Profound melancholy,
Our yearns,
The perpetually tragic night earns,
Thus the moon shys away,
Bribing the clouds to have it's say,
The clouds form the quit to free the moon from its guilt,
Hiding it away,
But I hope to see the moon as clear as sun,
Who knows it's worshipped,
Spilled into words of praise,
Whilst the moon sighs in envy,
Eluding jealousy a tale so refined,
Forged within sorrows it steals the light,
Wishing for the sun to set so it can have it's rise,