The Parade Is Over

After,

The rooms full of ex’s,

And potential lovers faces.

A weekend with many,

And yet, no one still.

New loves,

Old loves,

No loves.

LOOK AT US!

We created this world,

This beauty!

And still no one knows,

Back to the void,

the walls,

The titles of old;

Of “miss- sorry”

“Mr- sorry”

“What?”

Back to places the straights aren’t called.

Our existence ignored,

On display

Un-seen,

Consumed all day

Unknown,

Product, product, food

A feast!

Full of love,

Harmony,

To be the truest selves we’ve found on the way.

Signed.

From them, for them.

It feels…

Stolen

Existence, for them.

Stolen

Not for us.

Stolen

not for me.

Stolen

For them.

Object

Always for them.

As if without us this world wouldn’t be dull,

No colours between lovers,

No songs under covers,

Or whispers through skies,

No tension between comrades;

“If I kiss them will I cry?”

We are the light.

But today,

Today is a strip show,

An unmasking.

Remove the ”love” you have.

So, an empty home awakens me,

Full of jazz,

Full of colour,

Full of life to give,

To a world that will not see,

And knows only red when they think of me.

- ADA. Smith