Like a rusty hingethe news these days grates.It needs an oil of acceptancemixed with an ounce of heartseeing possibilitiesinstead…
When will you accept me as I am?- For I have nothing left…
my conscience wore your voice,recounting your prejudices as gospel;guilt envenomed my tongue,i drew scars on my skin;until self-preservation…
What Are You?
I’m
you see me — stripped of all definitionsand the cages that go with them — how can I ever repay this peerless gift of acceptance?
Old bones turned notTo dust, they turned gold
What few give without receiving, what all want, while none ask
for acceptance