I don’t want to die alone

In a world not mine,
scripts are written, In ink I never held.
They say: “Be complete, conform, belong,”
But I am the quiet that dwells
Beyond the noise of need,
Beyond the clamor of a chorus
That demands I fill their hollow molds.

“You cannot die alone,” they plead,
And the plea becomes a stone—
Not placed in my hands,
But in my heart.
Not to build,
But to burden.

Singlehood is cast as exile,
A punishment draped in pity.
They say it softly,
But their words are daggers:
“Life without this longing is no life at all.”
A life unlived,
An essence unvalued,
A truth unseen.

What remains when the choice is stolen?
Isolation stands stark,
A towering cliff;
Submission, the suffocating sea.
The joy of self,
The light of authenticity—
All drowned in tides
Of expectation’s relentless tide.

And yet, the elders walked through shadow,
Pioneers carving paths
Where no stories soothed, no maps guided.
Their resilience, a hymn unsung;
Their despair, a silence screamed
Into the void.
Their chains were forged of whispers
That said the world would never bend.

But still, I name the harm.
Still, I imagine—
A world vast and whole,
A celebration of connection’s endless forms.
Where touch is chosen,
And solitude, sacred.
Where the myths crumble,
And every heart finds its home
In its own rhythm,
Its own song.

For in the naming, there is resistance;
In the dreaming, there is power.
Let us unbind the chains,
Lift the stones,
And write new scripts for asexual
On the wide-open skies.