I’ve prayed for a cure to this horrid disease

Of loving someone without loving me

Is this a choice or a mental disorder?

My pain is a chasm, I’ve stood on its border

If I can’t love freely, then why love at all?

Is there a cure or an ultimate fall?

Society speaks, but where is my voice?

Why would I suffer if given a choice?

It’s how I was born, it’s not my fault

A wound that is raw and covered in salt

I’m imperfectly perfect with nothing to fix

Why not accept me and love me as is?

Some say it’s wrong and abhorred by nature

But can love be wrong, and is that my wager?

What are the stakes of swimming upstream?

Not choosing convention and living my dream?

Giving up peace, a love, happiness?

Living a life of turmoil and mess?

So examine yourself, don’t diagnose me

Do you think you are normal, perfect and free?

I pick to be “sick, distorted, and ill”

For that is my choice which comes from free will

The sickness is yours and not mine at all

I’m perfectly splendid, I’ll fly and not fall