hold my hand as we burn

it’s all anguish and stained with ruined dreams of intensity and fulfillment.
we could learn to touch in silence where the words don’t have to humiliate us anymore.
i scatter my flesh for the birds, for those who need it the most, to taste or to set aflame.

the smoke doesn’t have to fill your lungs, love.
it is only a message.
though, you are different.
you breathe power.

as a child,
i spent every evening longing to set fires, to let off my stolen rage against all those who could wrong those like me.
those who love so soft and with madness.
with madness in my heart, I love you
and i will be buried with those words echoing through my skin, and not even the dirt could muffle such a powerful silence.

it won’t die when I do.
it won’t, not even if it is starved or beaten out of me.
without it,
i am not myself and you would have to remind me again how a mirror works.

to die is only to die unloved,
i am prepared to last an eternity.
my conviction is violence to them,
and this has always been a war.

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This poem is a release of pent up emotions. Growing up catholic, it wasn\'t easy to come to turns with being a woman attracted to women but as I reached adulthood, it began to feel more like a superpower than a flaw.