loneliness is a hard experince for not just queer people but just any individual. We can get used
to a comfortable silence that it can almost bury us in.
We all deserve love. To share a life with someone who you feel apart of. To look over and share the same smirk because you’ve seen the
same silly reference.
A secret club of shared dreams.
We all are searching to find this secret club  
and we all deserve to find it.                      Everyone has the right to love even if they are not willing.








                   we all create two or more lives in our life whether it is for survival or protection. It would truly be a marvel to stay in your child’s life. 
                   To own one life. I know we will exchange characters as our scenes play out within new people, new dreams or new loves. But I don’t want 
                    to perform a new life for the sake of who? For the sake of obeying what role?  
The role given to use through judgement. Through purposeful pain. 







                                                                                                    your love cannot be a settlement but instead, be a freedom you both share and design for eachother. Allowing pain to be pain. Allowing the anger to be anger. Allowing change to surface and pass because love even if you think it has vanished, was merely there when and how it needed to be. 





                
                  it washed over my skin cleansing me of all filth. I had a rebirth but still felt the itch of my past. The itch I’ve always felt since I learnt to love. Since I learnt what is meant to be wrong in this world and what has to be right. What love is classified under, by not for ourselves but by others. Even when I think I am clean. When I think I have discovered and settled within my love I am reminded - reminded of what filth resides within my vessell. The filth that I am meant to see as a burden.

      I am suffocated within my desires for life.   








It makes my skin blister knowing the freedom I feel at times, from scene to scene, but still hold onto the faces I still use for convenience. The faces I hold 
so close to my skin to avoid a recurring pain, another judgement of being. My skin is raw and tired thinking how can we be so free yet still trapped 
by the ghosts of an old face. 
A face that we forced to be familiar. 
To be real.