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Strange
Don’t you ever wonder
How it feels to be strange?
If you could handle the looks and the stares of people
When you’re different?
You fear someone else
And I fear myself
But what’s the point?
Turbulent winds blown down to earth
Festering in the light
From a thousand souls
I love you, and you love me
But would you if I told you?
You say you expect, you respect, but I see your thoughts
They’re etched on your face, a field of hypocrisy
That’s the eighth circle of Hell, you know
Teardrops on leaves, running from the sky
Dripping to the ground, hoping to die
If I leave now, maybe I’d feel peace
Stability and security have never been my friend
Unfulfilled and unsatisfied
I’m hanging on a thread
Help me! Help me! I’m falling!
My thoughts are doubled edged swords able to kill hellhounds
I am nothing but hollow guilt
I wish I could wash my hands of this curse
The night is fine, the stars are flying
Beautiful and fragrant as the world
But in an instant it can crumble before us
Help! The night is lying, the night is lying...
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This is a poem I wrote right after my parents once again told me my sexual identity could still change. The conversation made me feel unwanted, confused, and alone. I reference many dark works in this, including Macbeth and Dante Alighieri's Inferno.