an insecti'd like to be an insectto just wake up one dayand see the vast, wide worldin a completely different way the parking lot pavementwould become a sea of grayi'd shelter under mushroomsas it starts to rain i'd scuttle high on branchesand burrow deep in earthi'd see colours unknownbut give people a wide berth the pebbles on the porchwould be like mountain peaksthe grass on the front lawnwould be like redwood trees i'd like to be an insectperhaps just for a dayi'd like to shed my worriesand put my thoughts awayvulnerabilityis it about taking this love,from my shaking hands?charging through the walls i’ve built,as a final, desperate stand? can I ever be close to you,without falling apart?will you teach me how,to show my frail heart? do you hear me now,my voice barely a murmur?i’m trying so very hard,to let you past my armour to put faith in and trust you,and take you at your wordplease don’t make me regret,laying down my swordcobaltyou say nothing ever shines as bright,like the light inside my eyeseven if the stars across the midnight sky,they finally burned blue you insist my eyes make oceans jealous,though i'm not sure that's the truth despite your claims of splendour,what would happen if you knew?my dearest love, i should say it so,they were always made for youfaithfulfor as rustedand as wornas i ami will foreverbe your swordstarsyou made tiny starsdance at the cornersof my darkened eyesand then i realisedi wanted those starsto grow ever brighterfighteryour way is not of painyour destiny not ordainedstand up, brave warriorbrush the dust from your shouldersand keep fightingpride monththe pharmacy down the streethas a sign on its sliding doorit says ‘everyone is welcome’though it wasn’t there before with playful, blocky textdecorated in progressive coloursit certainly does not feel this waythough, maybe it does to others? because he still walks to the countertugging, pulling at his baggy shirthe asks for the birth control quietlyafraid it might get him hurt it still says ‘feminine paper’in the aisle near the cashiernot period nor menstrualbecause god forbid the children hear all the congratulatory cards and baby clothesare pink for girls and blue for boysas if a child has the foresight, the freedomto question their parents’ choice the flags and celebratory hatsare covered in logos of sterilised whiteas companies attempt to ownthe struggle for our human rights on being trans, though i can’t speak to thati can certainly criticize, when a bar is set this lowwhen all he’s ever felt the need to saywas an apology for being so i do not know if i believe youdespite the sign on your front door… isn’t it just a performance for the customersso that they’ll give you more?privilege vs. allowanceit is such a kindnessto allow somebody to beexactly as they arei am so very sorrythat you were never handed it and thank youfor the allowanceof myselfi have neverhad the privilege beforerebellionevery time i smilelaugh, rejoice, singevery time i am given kindnessand every time i am smiled ati win, over and over and overfor there is no greater rebellionthan my existencehomefallen out of the midnight skya deep-end drop into starlit seascoming down to dusted earthin a tragic, yet brilliant blaze of glorypast millions of strings of lightyears of luminescence awayhe finds homelight (2026)when i start to believe this is my fate,you'll hand me my worth on a silver plate.when i can't remember how to feel,you'll remind me what's false and what's real.and when shadows make my heart wear thin,you'll be how the light got in.an exercise in self love (2026)and if i can't hate myselfinto some fantastical version i can loveif i can't mould myself into a shapethat satisfies my grand, artistic visionand if i can't trust myselfinto a person i can truly, deeply believe ini will love you instead(and maybe, someday, somehow,i'll catch up to you,and stand beside you.)the visuals of grief (2026)it looks like iced tea bottle caps(for as much as it confused the onlookers,as we played 'hockey' on our wooden table;back when they were sold in glass)and it smells like those greasy fried noodles,in styrofoam clamshells, andthe chemical air from the nail salon down the hallin the old mall's foodcourt, which is nowa relic of the past; the noodle shop, probably haunted it looks like the orange wrapper,of a peanut and chocolate candy(as much as mother wanted you to,and as much as she dreaded that sugar rush;you never did forget how much i loved those-)that you'd bribe me with after schoolso i would help you carry the groceries,from your beat up pontiac sunfirewhile your favourite rock n' roll blared from the radio it looks like the butcher's peach paperthat kept your favourite meats and produce fresh,(for as unhealthy as they were,and for as much as you coveted your lunch;you always shared it with me, after some pleading)you really did love that deli, and those sausagesthe shop of which is still there,and i wonder if they remember you,if they do, i hope it's with the same fondness as i. and it looks like burnt banana bread, and dried out steakswe ate it anyway, because it was always made with love,pancakes on a sunday, and mint candies in your glove compartment,and hair fading with age, and blue eyes, and a crooked grin- then suddenly, everything i took for granted,just like you, it was gone too soon.and so nothing ever looked the same again.all my friendsi was never the bestat making 'real' friendspeople would simply tolerate meas a means to a false end so i turned to what lay in-betweenthe beige pages of my booksi talked to pixels in my favourite gamesthough it earned me scathing looks i learned to stand and cheerfor the characters i held closeand the stories that helped me smilewhen i needed it most all my friends are fictionaland that might be as good as it getsbecause they're the realest peoplethat i have ever metthe sad clown i've played a circus actjust to make everyone smilenot just because i only sawthe evil this world brings in me,but because i've walked a milejust to see someone prove me wrong. when everyone followed the flashing lightsand crowded for short-term famei wanted to bring a flowerin this pile of corpses i'm a lab rat,test monkey,and an experimentto the big guys up above.i've never fell into their traps or their promises,but i feel like i'm their little sidekick just for existing. i've wanted to surrender my soulto smile again and to laugh at somethingi've wanted to mock the suffering, tobe their spokesman, to blend in. but is it worth the price?they would rather see me with the fisheseven if i were to give them what they want.i would never be accepted, and at the endthere's nothing that i'll really be able to gain. i'm going to run awayto hide in a place where i can dissapearbut retain my lifei'd rather be the sad clown than the happy executioner.