I am told what I am doesn’t exist.
My voice gets dismissed.
The world just declares me loveless,
Forcing me to repress
What I want to spare them the effort of
Redefining “love.”
I dissolve in their pool of venom,
Until I’m the thrum
Behind my ears that propels me through
A cloud with no hue.
But I don’t want people to perceive
Me as broken or naïve.
I want to pretend they don’t matter—
Quiet the chatter.
But there is static in the silence,
Without recompense,
And I am a ghost drifting across
Paths concealed by moss.
If I could I’d create a world where
No one must ever bear
The contempt that made me feel empty
When I was twenty.
About the Creator
Remi Akers
Remi is a poet and Young Adult fantasy/contemporary writer. They are a nonbinary demi-androromantic asexual who has chronic pain and fatigue. They like to write all things dark, queer, and cozy.
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Off the Book
It ended like every other stupid idea. Badly, and alone. I’m researching digital confession ethics, he said. A tech ethicist. He gestured at floating data I couldn’t see then pulled out a physical notebook. Actual paper, fountain pen. He held it up like he was showing me scripture.
By Nicky Frankly2 days ago in Fiction
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