Let’s not romanticize high school love.
You’re not Romeo, no matter what you think.
In fact, I’d hope you’re better.
I think that I’m better, I think.
Even though she broke my heart.
I was never Romeo
I don’t think I was better, either.
I tried to die over a stupid girl
But it’s different, I am a stupid dyke.
My church doesn’t want to love me.
Even though I love them.
I take my pencil and draw.
It’s mediocre art that no one likes.
It’s ugly and unappealing.
These passed years, I forsook my parents.
But my mom means the world, she really does.
I wrap myself in her arms and cry.
I bathe myself in color.
Keep distance from the fake.
Even if my mind’s surreal.
I’m getting better; I know I am.
The scars have faded.
Raised pink scars that look like tiger stripes.
I think about God and my mom.
If no one loves me, they do.
So what if I’m a starving artist?