Deepest melancholy

Why do I write what I write.
Is it my vice.
Why do people judge only through their eyes.
Is that the only me.

Why can't they see my scars.
Why can't they feel my despair.
Why can't I be given some substance.
Is sex and sexuality my only depth.

As fierce desires tear through me.
As emotions choke my breathe.
My inner goddess rise in rebellious fantasies.
Sometimes in luscious intensity.
Sometimes in a sea of undying love.

That's not the only me.
That's not the only me.
That's my deepest melancholy.