God must hate the weekends it rains so often
en fetisjen:
Over mij
Where I’m going:
I’m a trio of people
With minority sexualities,
Who seem like aliens
To the bourgoise hetero
I thought I was…
They don’t talk
To each other;
They can't merge,
What they dont understand—
But I can’t ignore
What I have to be,
Just because
I cannot label it..
If you die
From being yourself,
Who lives to tell the tale?
But if you’re dead already,
Who writes this poem?