Devils, Demons, & Being Dante's son

You have no love for me!

As the concept of admiration

Seeps through teeth of a mouth at grin.

Just as an angry shade of red 

Would color spotted grief

Upon the face of the cruelly 

Disfigured.

You only see hell beneath my broken skin

In which only you harmed.

And In a land with no slaves

I have, in the past, confiscated

My love and emotion

For the falsities of your thoughts

And the grimness of your reality.

Anguish, in opposition of a popular belief,

Connot be learned from,

But only avoided in every way possible.

When intentions are to displace positivity

With hate

And creativity with another's belief of correctness,

One can only believe in the gravity

Of slaves and last names.

Growing from another set of men is a necessity

That I've bestowed upon myself,

For it is my mind that desires a nurtured accompanying 

That a refutable man and woman

Cannot provide.