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Sonnet No. 15
The contrast that's inside me is a threat,
To some, but it can't harm them—even though
I wish it could. I can't exist. I don't
Exist to them, except when I would err,
Neglect some matter, lose some argument—
They vilify me then. I think I've known
This truth. I've combed along this too-long road,
And, usually, nobody's close—my end's
To be a ghost. A rose by any name
besides it's own would be as light and sweet.
For this alone am I so hunted—pained—
Maligned? Is it because I'm just so freed
That I am only seen as if insane—
As if a fiend? No, I think not. I'm me.
© Emilia Perseo Samuel Gaspar
#sonnet
To some, but it can't harm them—even though
I wish it could. I can't exist. I don't
Exist to them, except when I would err,
Neglect some matter, lose some argument—
They vilify me then. I think I've known
This truth. I've combed along this too-long road,
And, usually, nobody's close—my end's
To be a ghost. A rose by any name
besides it's own would be as light and sweet.
For this alone am I so hunted—pained—
Maligned? Is it because I'm just so freed
That I am only seen as if insane—
As if a fiend? No, I think not. I'm me.
© Emilia Perseo Samuel Gaspar
#sonnet
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