To the Ones Who Feel the Weight

In a world sketched by hands not our own,
The stark truth of asexual hearts is shown.
Beneath the clamor, a refrain persists:
“Without romance, your life cannot exist.”

This is no care, no kindness to console,
But a demand to conform, to shrink the soul.
Singlehood cast as shame, as a curse,
A verdict dealt in life’s cruel verse.

Their words, like stones, crash heavy and sharp,
Silent daggers aimed at the heart.
I’m told to build on desires untrue,
On scaffolds I neither want nor pursue.

They name it concern, but it masks their fear,
Whispers wrapped in motives unclear.
Each glance, each word, each unspoken decree,
Chains a life that longs to be free.

Companionship becomes a choice denied:
Comply or defy—either way vilified.
One hand offers isolation’s chill,
The other erases my essence, my will.

Consent, joy, and truth sacrificed, lost,
At the altar of approval, no matter the cost.
But what of paths that diverge, untamed,
Where lives unbound are reclaimed, renamed?

Their stories paint grief, a barren tone,
Yet naming this harm seeds strength unknown.
A spark ignites in the shadows of despair,
A reminder that hope still lingers there.

Our elders dreamed, bore untold loads,
Carving freedom through culture’s codes.
They saw a world where love could expand,
Beyond society’s narrow, gripping hand.

A sketchbook brushed in purple hues,
Weaving threads of connection anew.
A realm of joy, unbound and free,
Flourishing in self-knowing’s decree.

To those who carry this quiet weight,
Take heart—the world may hesitate.
Yet stone by stone, together we’ll rise,
Building havens beneath open skies.

Not in silence, but with courage wide,
A life that honors where truths reside.
For in these quiet truths, a song takes flight:
Asexual lives—whole, vibrant, alight.