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* * *
I had a dream about you.
I thought you were dead and I walked into your room in our house and saw you sitting up wrtapped in blankets.
I started to turn for the door because I knew you were alive when you asked me what- I saw your face for the first time in ten months, heard your laugh.
I want to talk to you so bad, you're alive and yet I feel like you're dead to me.
I know now that it is possible to be punished for loving someone too much.
I loved you too much, I thought you deserved it, but I guess I was wrong.
Maybe not, maybe I just wasn't deserving of the same.
I hate how people view me as pyschotic, maybe I am.
Maybe I'm just too passionate for my own good.
I'm thinking of erasing you-covering you up.
All I know is that I don't deserve this.
* * *
He calls me Miss Blue.
He says it's because of my eyes,
but I think that's a lie.
I have this sense of sadness that I just can't shake
like a hangover from a night you don't remember...
* * *
I am amazed at all the transformation I see taking place. Apathy is dead.
Passion is here and our hearts have been lifted from the prisons they were
immured to by fear.
Rise up and join the tides; they are bringing change that will affect our
lives forever. The face of the future is changing, and it's face is
smiling through the smoke and tears.
The pain will bring reward, we will reap what we've sown. Join hands and
rise above and beyond all that's been written. The pen is in your hands;
what will you write?
* * *
I have lost many loves for not being something.
I am not indigenous, my skin is not brown, and I am not from Mexica.
I am not a man, I don't have a penis, and I am not shallow.
I am not who I once was, nor will I ever be again, the past is gone.
I am me and I am full of a mixture of love and hate for all of you for being who you are and for never loving me for who I am.
* * *
These are the shades of gray I inhabit.
* * *
* * *
how is it that you are blinded by what you cannot even see?
* * *
6. 22. 3. 17.

25. 15. 22.

* * *
Memory is a bitch and so is fate.
They're bedfellows
and their orgasm equals panic.
* * *