Where the Garden Ends

Asexual

They say that we aren't oppressed,

And don't shoot, but I am inclined to say that it's true.

I've never had to worry about

First impressions at an interview

Or riots

Or whether or not I could be put behind iron bars

For having a heart made of steel.

But don't imagine that our battles aren't just as real,

Because no one wants to be broken.

No one wants to be told that it is a disease,

That medication and mental exercise can cure you

When you don't need to be fixed.

Perhaps, mother says, you just need to find the right guy, or gal, at this point who cares.

Pass for normal, they say

But that's just living a lie.

See, in high school, I thought that it was strange

The way my friends could fall in love so easily with the right frame

When all I cared about was frame of mind.

I didn't realize that out of the boxes to check, there was one that could clearly define.

Late bloomer, they chided.

Afraid to come out, they whispered.

Robotic and icey, hard to love.

But maybe loving isn't so simple

As your body against mine.