Complimentary

Seasons change
with my mind,
and who I am
is hard to find
when I bind
myself in how
others view me.

Black taffeta strips
wrapped around my prismatic heart,
my young mind.
Kind and loving,
the ribbon closes
its boa grip
and I am white chill
with fierce winds,

worried of a first impression,
my body
turns against me,
mental
immunosupression
overrides my senses

when my
bloodlust organ
skips beats
to Cyndi Lauper riffs
and B-52 jams.

Surrounded by normality,
I want to blend
like white into black
and turn bitterness
into flirtation,

live again,
love again
be again
what I had begun
when I first fell and plunged
all I had for Him.

I can be normal
if I try,
but I can be me
if I simply Be.

Yin and Yang,
there is no
Right and Wrong.

Denying your true self
may lead to unhappiness,
but there is resolve.

Being your true self
may lead to happiness,
but there is still pain.

My deepest,
technicolor
soul lies concealed
until Spring arrives,
but the paradox
of my Lie,
facade,
keeps me
in permafrost.
And somehow
I am content,
and somehow
I am outraged,
and somehow
I have split,

but when did this happen?
Normal birth,
normal life.
unnatural orientations
that I find myself against.
Struggling identity,
though I am in pieces -
viewpoints within viewpoints.

One Million Mirrors
laid adjacent,
tunnels of myself
going on into infinity,

I see Cassiopeia's tears
rain down the horizon.

My face in red
to my left,
my face in green
to my right.