Those having faith in God,
Those praying with utmost sincerity,
Get blessings and love to face hardships without losing hope.

They see me wearing skirts and stilettos
living my life in falsetto
which they claim a false meadow
and all call out hell no.

They call me godless
when I crossdress
in this frost mess
of lost guests.

They call me a queen
just to be mean
I am what they deem
what they instantly gleam.

Some don’t like what’s different
so the townspeople pick up their pitchforks
they want to diminish my imprint
I guess that’s what they call me a ***** for.

They despise the flamboyant game
coming from my derelict frame
they ask if I feel no shame
I ask them the same.

Every time I’m on the verge
of a dirge
they swerve
from my verve.

While I walk on the air
they watch and they stare
envy ensnared
jealousy scared.

I see myself as ethereal
and try to be pure
they see a disease venereal
in need of a cure.

They say men mustn’t be feminine
even if it is genuine
and there’s a place they’ll send you in
to die with the men who sin.

They order me to mask my grin
and act masculine
but I never asked to win
so I bask in sin.

I search for connection
turning in the direction
of those interested in my *******
not my introspection.

They’re so ******
they’re so catty
they’re just wishing
for a daddy.

The lo-fi
don’t know why
I go cry
and don’t pry.

Excruciating wonders
tear me asunder
until all of my plunder
is a magnanimous blunder.

My throat gets a mite coarse
from the blight force
of their high horse
on my white porch.

My tonsil gets scratchy sore
once they freeze my core
and I sing no more
exiting the door.

I can’t speak
let alone sing
my body is weak
and so are my wings.

They want me in their baritone
narrow home
where sparrows go
to carol no.

I see the slinking bass
ruining this stinking place
engendering a sinking face
whenever I get a thinking taste.

There’s a sharp staccato
in the places I will not go
where the race of evil taught notes
lower than my shipwrecked boat.

I go underwater like the Maldives
silently we all scream
living in our small dreams
rooting for our ball teams.

Once they see I’ve drowned
they hand me back my crown
and tell me not to look so down
after I’ve been gagged and bound.

I respond to their monotony
noddingly
plotting the
same odyssey.

I adopt the stature
of Margaret Thatcher
I’m the student’s master
like a brimstone pastor.

Now I sing as low as I can go
and my flow is extra slow
because I could never grow
living my life in falsetto.

It seems I try and speak. No one hears as to the silence no response.
Hardly anyone notices my presence
As very few react in emotions or welcoming actions
My work and my lonely beating heart
Seem to be invisible and the beat of questioned empty rhythm is never heard
I’m here although a ghost
If I disappeared should it make a mark?
If I stay would I make a difference?
Or am I in another dimension?
As I am Alice
Trapped in Wonderland
Shouting through the tiny door’s key hole
At myself
Shouting “wake up.you need to wake up!”
As the waking hours become the quiet pergatory and my dreams are a horror rated
Movie played in loop while in wonderland.
Can I wake up to be seen?

My dog finds a conch nestled in the sand-
half dead, half alive- in the foaming tide,
She paws at its exposed pinkness
ignoring the hermit crab seeking shelter.

The conch shrivels beyond its lip
the scent of dead flowers pouring out,
my dog in a frenzy to taste its exotic flesh,
this beautiful creature sheltering in place.

Resisting the urge to pluck it from its shell
I pick it up and toss it beyond her scent,
beyond the fear, disease, the quarantine
I must always return to in silence.

As the shell sinks back to its home,
I now know everything dies in the sand.

Abstention nor rejection, the distinction of her heart
Soul or soulless, my flight shall take me wherever
Flesh or fleshless, my heart will know fervor
As I finally leave a broken heart and ride in the galloping oceans, I shall wait
In the jet black night my body aches in pain and rejecting-oblivion

overwhelmed and breathless
but
in the way that makes you
tired of existing

until the realization
that i have not been
drowning
deep in the ocean

my feet are planted
in the sky
and it's only my head
under water
and
if i just keep walking

i'll be in the clouds

Cold wind blow softly touching my cheeks...
Its the darkest night which can be cut into pieces..
fireflies create a missed starry night on earth....
I  walk through the stars.....
I hear voice of the night...

I hear whole world breathing...
some are sleeping crawled up in warm beds.....
but i can't miss this night...
People used to look up in the night....
but with full of fireflies and cold wind...
it always make me to stare at darkness

May, its a full of endings and beginnings
maybe its cold as December or 34*c degrees hot
its  May....people used to make fancy stories
that really happened in past
Revolutions, Religions, Uprisings ....
Everything started and ended in May.
I cannot say for sure what a beauty I feel this moment.

i'm very afraid
of death

and i don't
particularly
want to drown

but when you look at me
with those eyes...

perhaps i can make
an exception.

the empty people
miles long
sow the grain again