I am my own version of cretin.
My own version of stupid,
My own version of insensitive,
And my own version of illness.

~illness~

Yes,
That's what they call my kind.
They don't know it yet,
But when they do,
I'd be as good as a disease.

~disease~

I'm afraid
of what's to come next,
When the world sees me
and the color of my soul.

~my color~

Will the judgment kill me?
The real person inside,
The shade that is me,
My very own rainbow.

~rainbow~

The sun is setting again.
But why isn't it rising?
The rainbows aren't colorful—
But in the dullest of shade.
If this is me—why is the rain falling
where it shouldn't be?

~sadness~

Just sat in my dining table
and handed me a mirror.
It turns out,
The one I fear...
That enemy...
Is no other than
me.

I am my own tragedy.

#
🥀

© astaire_grey