Disorders 

There is a solemness felt
when I drift my fingers across
the velveteen petals of a rose,
for I could never harm something
so delicate and quieting to the mind. 

Put me in a room of people and I
cannot decipher the same code. 

I will stand here in isolation
with the desire to hate everything
that I touch without the gall or heart
to go through with it,
because we cannot
change what is in our nature,
no matter how much it kills us. 

– BIATA

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