COWARD
You are oppressed by your own shackles, and the champion-awarded standing ovasions can only be deafened by your own chuckles.
You have chosen political, social, and peer pressures to determine your own self worth, rather than decide your own fate; whom to love; how to love. Throwing away a right granted at your own birth.
You justify your abusive silence, and shrewed neglect based on what "they-say" may say. When the truth is fear rules your life, minute to minute, day by day-soon will come the time where you must face your courage, and this sadness will be yours, when the heat of your yellow flames have burned anything...of relevance away.
You are the jalior of the prison, in which you rot, using me as checkers to pass the time, but when I proclaimed my love, gave you myself freely...you ran; dug a hole like a rat, and left me to rot.
You are a lifeless floater, afraid to swim, drowned by your daddy's expectations, while your legs swing in a breeze of Freud's words, as your eyeballs gauge from thier sockets, and the noose of your mother's apron strings draw tighter and tigher, you don't realize that your choices have been slaughtered by your life long drinkin' buddies, who reign judgements, teathered by loyalty...and these...these, are YOUR Gods.
You gave me up, as an offering of bloody lamb, upon an alter of incense and gold, forgetting of how once I was your alter-the body you once worshipped, you have now skewered, upon a holy rack to a human God that would tell you I am a freak, your prize; has he vowed to keep your secret, and grant you your discretion? To promise never to deal with a reality as long you do not say it aloud? There you stand, proud..presenting me, your offering, with confusion in your mind, and heartache on your hands.. red palms; Tell me do they bleed for me? or Just your suppression of me, as you keep silent of our love making psalms?
You will move on and prey on another to sacrifice, But she will love you perhaps more than me, see no wrongs and keep your transsexual loving ways in a tight box called your secrets, for her standards will be lower than mine, won't put your manhood and integrity as a human being, to the test, she won't dare ask about the one you left behind who was intelligent and beautiful,... care giving and loving,... supporter of all you were and could be, in which, you cut open and drapped in sunflowers and gave freely once to a human diety, and in return your wish of being sent into the west was granted-and no one the wiser of her existance.
You will brag of how "what a man it is indeed, to love, and be caught by "the Right One". Perhaps she will see more of you, than I do now, for what I now realize, there is nothing in you; no heart, nor love, no artic chill nor southern fever, just a vessel only able to harbor a prowler, a tranny chaser...plainly put a fucking coward.
original work
by
monika veliz
