If only He made me a beautiful nymph,
Though I do not mean to question my existence,
But I do.
You know who I love,
What and who I want to love,
As who I am for that lover,
As that lover feels the same for me,
Why I wonder to be other than this body,
Wondering a different species,
I feel like something other than I see,
As I look at what I consider a lie, a thought
A temporary body, but a soul with it's own heart.
A soul embodying the goddess that I'd love to be,
Or that mythical hero for she,
if she wants to be saved, or in love with me...
Rather this state of being, this love,
Is a sanctuary of melancholy
With moments of happy short stories..
This poet writing has an identity
That hides away from the eyes of society
Revealing only to that possible lover,
That interest, who's interested in my intellect,
Who sees through, past my physical presence
Understanding the language of my eyes
The vision within my brain,
A fantastic and a colorful world,
My own reality, where I take forms,
Where I travel, from past to present...
With such thought, with such heart,
With such a soul, you know..
What I know, who I really should become ,
What could become of that lover...
If only you'd preform such miracle,
to let me be, and then become..
Respectfully, I accept...