I don't know if names exist before
things or things exist before names.
I don't know if you are your name
or your name is you. I only know
that I hunt for words I can scream
out loud, I can pronounce tasting
the salt and the sweet inside a
noun that reminds me of you, I
can drink as it was the water in
your iris, I can swallow like waves
of red wine getting me drunk the
way you do. I hunt for words where
I can see you, I can find you, I can
feel you, even in other languages
because one is not enough.

When I show you my art,
I'm not looking for attention
When I share these poems,
it's not to seek your praise
When I let you see these things,
I don't want you to tell me it looks good
No, I don't care about that
Rather, it honestly makes me a little uncomfortable
Because of the emotion you miss,
the meaning within my 'talent'
And you don't get it
But especially if you do,
the last thing I want is for you to call me "gifted"
Am I 'gifted', to have such thoughts?
So whether you can feel for me or not,
all I'm asking you to so is get a glimpse
of what's inside my head
Don't be distracted by if it's 'good' or not
Please, make the effort to look a little deeper

Why I cannot tell you,
I do not know.
Why I can't bear to speak,
I'm not sure.
Why I can only communicate my soul this way,
I don't understand.
Why this is the only language I'm fluent in,
I have no clue why.
This is why I seek out people who speak like me,
born with a stranger's tongue,
a dialect not many can comprehend.
This is why I can only talk to them,
sending riddles and broken words
even they may not understand.
It's why I don't perceive the language of this world,
but only the coded words found deep in art.