Change of tone (unfinished)

Don’t you know? I was once a painter.

I craved bar codes at my wrist. Sometimes color red, sometimes just pinkish.

I was the artist and my body was my canvas.

Sharp objects are my brush and acrylic red was the color.

I’m an artist. My miserable thoughts were my ideas and design.

I was very good at it.

The only problem is, I only know one line and one color.

Which is a straight line at the canvas of my skin and shades of red and dark colors.

Until, one artist came. I didn’t like her nor hate.

I was an artist of my own. We got so much in comparison.

While I like red and dark tones, she brought me light ones.

I don’t know If I’ll use it, anyway.

The only thing that we don’t have in comparison is,

While I paint in my own canvas, she paints in mine too.

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I hate the way we all are stitched into the idea of conforming into society’s standards of loving each
other. That’s why my head nowadays painfully ponder,

The idea of forcing yourself into liking the opposite gender. For I have felt like a crooked puppet.

A puppet with the strings tangled and mangled,

Intertwined and twisted into pressuring myself for liking men

because that’s what people said I should like.

How am I going to tell to people that

It’s never going to be a he, but instead she?

How am I going to explain the way she makes my heart explode,

And the way he will never be able to do so?

I know, I wasn’t lost. My true self is right here. Buried under cultural conditioning,

And other people’s opinion.

It just became my belief but no, this is me.

I wasn’t finding myself. I was returning to myself.

“Finding myself” is actually returning to myself.

A memory of who I was before the world got its hands on me.

How come everyone views us as sin?

Creatures who disguise and present themselves saints sees us as vermin.

The plastered smile on their crummy faces when they see anyone who identifies as not straight

Turns into wicked words and diabolic frown when they glare at someone casted out by society.

Darling, I’m frightened and tried.

Are we really that bad? Should they cast violence against us?

For I would take every brutal word they spat rather than living my life a lie,

A life filled with hurtful words and disagreement, yet a life worth living with you.
I don’t care what people say. I don’t care if I’m labeled as a sin or if nobody accepts what I feel.

You set my heart on fire in a way that man could never.

I’m not wrong for wanting you instead of an “HIM”. Love this pure couldn’t be wrong.

I find comfort simply through the gentle sound of your voice.

From the way, your eyes light up when you smile to the feeling of being wrapped up with every emotion
you are on. And no, I wasn’t guiltless to think of holding your hand that I fit myself in every crevice.

I’d love you as if the world is one fire and there would be nothing left

But ashes and us. I’d take care of you and treat you. As if, your body was made out of water.

Pour yourself into me and I would not let a single drop of you

Hit the ground. Like earth, I’d make you feel safe that, “Us”

Is the only comforting shelter you’d ever find.

Like thunders and storms, I’d still choose to be with you.

Even though my body was made out of keys. Like the gust of wind,

I want to be the air in your lungs to remind you, to breath easy and stay alive.

I know, I sound like a hopeless romantic.

But that’s how passionate I am to loving a “HER”wq

“If loving you was a sin, then I will gladly tell the people in hell about you and me”, I said.

She answered, “If loving you was a sin, I’d gladly be the devil.”