In between these straight lines,
I shall find synonyms
that are twisted.
Abnormal, Atypical, Uncommon, Unusual.
I shall write poetry,
that is not so straight.
Filling the white spaces, with the voice,
Discovering sexualities,
Writing homoeroticism,
A line or two claiming love is love.
It is 'that time of the year.'
A time,
when each metaphor of every poem
looks up to you,
bows down its head,
Asks you to embrace
The words in the way they are,
Tell them they are born to stand out,
They are the way they were meant to be,
A Pride, they shall seek.
For who better than you,
A reader,
A human turned into  poetry,
A human still discovering who he really is,
shall know about acceptance.