My fingers dance across your skin
and small constellations I trace;
There rests Aries on your collar,
and Andromeda frames your face.

Though you’ve labeled these stars a flaw,
I can’t stop myself from thinking
Aphrodite herself did bring
these small constellations to being.

jesus ******* christ.
the days were numbered and i
forgot to start a tally of
lines carved into the cement walls.
these walls are the only thing
keeping me sane, my sanity
isn’t what it use to be but thank
god i’m not surrounded by
people infected with
ignorance.

rampant, raving, and rioting because they’ve all lost their ******* minds
and ******* lives
people are dying, dropping dead like flies.
and we start to realize,
wake up and smell the artificial roses
planted in front of the white house.
a white house burned
a white house on fire
a white house and it’s lawn turned to ash.
there’s nothing left but the smoke that rises
straight to the sky.

and it’s okay, the family inside took their time,
made sure the door was shut and locked as they left,
never left their lamp on inside so someone came in,
said the skeleton of a home is worth rebuilding,
refurnishing.
matching the curtains with the drapes
and the sofas with the carpet.
the rug was a gift, they say.
for helping and fixing and replenishing
and making the home welcoming to guests.
guests that never received invitations,
never allowed in.
guests who are not guests,
guests who own that ******* house.
guests who own you.

rampant, raving, and rioting because they’ve all lost their ******* minds
and ******* lives
people are dying, dropping dead like flies.
and we start to realize,
wake up and smell the artificial roses
planted in front of the white house.
a white house burned
a white house on fire
a white house and it’s lawn turned to ash.
there’s nothing left but the smoke that rises
straight to the sky.

follow the flame.
follow the footsteps.
find where it starts and let
no one forget it.
you’ve a duty to uphold,
and people to protect,
this was only the beginning
of the very end.


rampant, raving, and rioting because they’ve all lost their ******* minds
and ******* lives
people are dying, dropping dead like flies.
and we start to realize,
wake up and smell the artificial roses
planted in front of the white house.
a white house burned
a white house on fire
a white house and it’s lawn turned to ash.
there’s nothing left but the smoke that rises
straight to the sky.


rampant, raving, and rioting because they’ve all lost their ******* minds
and ******* lives
people are dying, dropping dead like flies.
and we start to realize,
wake up and smell the artificial roses
planted in front of the white house.
a white house burned
a white house on fire
a white house and it’s lawn turned to ash.
there’s nothing left but the smoke that rises
straight to the sky.

Hey momma, I'm gay.
I've been wanting to tell you every day.
I've been to scared to tell you
because you don't know whats true.
I know your going to be sad
but being my true self makes me glad.
I needed to tell you before I cant
but I don't want to hear your whole rant.

Can one blame me for hiding?
For this cowardice?
Not because of embarrassment
Nor the prejudice,

But because of the fear of loosing you.
What we have—I hold onto it foolishly.

Longing for your trust (absolute, mutual),
I stay by your side. Like a ritual,
Thought repeats, (hopeless, in a haze):
“I await for you, never and always.”

A novelty.
Her love is pressed lilacs in your favorite book.
I’ve been in love with her an eternity of lifetimes.
If there was an I, there was a her somewhere too.
& the world needed it.
Needed her.


Her bipolar disorder makes her superman ice cream in Mid-July. The spectrum far wider than the napoleon we're accustom to. Emotions melting into each other like organized chaos. Then, converging into a supernova of empathy. An amplifier to all that is forgotten in our ability to feel. I wonder on some days how she can cultivate anything other than mania. Yet, she is more harmonic than Beethoven’s ninth symphony. Do you feel – do you feel the weight of the world, my love? Her world taste of colors. The rainbow of emotions seeping through every orifice of her body.


I’m reminded how much is lost in the translation.
How it must be to feel without a filter. Then, every cry over a stranger seems to be the somber pieces of humanity missing. A world lost in alexymethia – she is the sanity we’ve never known.

She was sitting there
Crying silently
Mascara flowing down
Down her broken face
Her broken fate

She was not a boy
Her truth was hidden
"You have to be a boy"
Her truth was forbidden

Secretively
She wore her mother's gold necklet
Lying carelessly on the bed
To free her choked up neck
It was the only rebellion she was allowed
In a society so afraid
Of someone different from the crowd
But for the moment
It was all she needed
She was proud

"Don't make the gods cry"
But what about her own tears?
The gold necklet 'he' wore
Was human civilization's greatest fear

Everybody wore a mask
She just couldn't
Or she would die
She was Athena
She was power
She was courage personified
The gold necklet she wore
they couldn't hide