Poetry

Under deadly nightshade
we met for the first time,
to watch each other's brilliance―
and rip away.

The scars had become our
moons. We sailed through―
the ocean of grief.

When we gather in dark
there was no choice―
between I am, and you are.

You were afraid to confront―
not accepting what your skin feels
and mind rejects.

The soul searching begins
to become non-conformist,
in green night―
beautiful night.