lesbian poetry

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At age twelve, I was afraid of myself. I could not explain my soul, or even recognize it, because I was convinced it was evil. A childhood bathed in fear and anxiety, all in the name of holiness, 
Weave flowers through your hair while we sit in the garden. To be alone with you, not touching, never touching, is a sublime torture, an exercise in self-denial and gratification,
I wish you talked about me the way you talk about him. You float through thoughts of him while I drown in thoughts of you. Your aching lungs are full again and you swear you found your breath
No one told me that I would suffer for the muse.   I wake up; I think of her. I write; I think of her. I eat, drink, sleep; I think of her.   She never thinks of me.
You were never mine but I wanted you.   I wanted with every bruised limb of my body every crack in my faulty brain every beat of my cold heart. I have never wanted anything more than you.
I cannot write if it's not about you. I cannot think of anything but you. I cannot sleep without dreaming of you. I miss you.   The black void yawns before me. I go to it, arms open
I would carry the weight of the world for you if I could like Atlas.   My spine is weak and slumped under my own weight but I promise I won't let you down.  
Muses are supposed to be: soft, loving; passionate, burning;   But you are: lost, looking.   Your eyes are wide open, always searching; you see everything, but find nothing.
The only dreams I remember are the ones where we're together.   laughter soft smiles skin on skin loose lips clashing teeth twisting tongues hand in hand  
You are a nuclear weapon with the power to  decimate, end the world, end my world.   I would let you, but I hope we can make peace; sign a treaty to protect our hearts,
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