if there was love left over for us; if somehow

we could trick you into loving us, instead of

leaving us behind so we linger in the streets

almost hit by a car or blinded by its headlights

we’d last, until you labeled us less than the others

faking many a laugh but learning to conceal the pain

because we lack what we need to get what we crave, yet

crawling in the mud we’d creep upwards, only to fall back

and break our bones on the sidewalk, with bruises still sore

but we, depressed and oppressed and strangely liberated;

we leapt, limitless, to try and lessen the hurt but

how long will it take; how many stares will it

take for you to look back; how much screaming

will shake you and break you down until you

finally see that we deserve your love and we

deserve to love ourselves just as much

as we thought we loved you?