Fine poetry is the music of mathematics. Numbers singing. You have to look behind the words to understand their meaning.
I lost a cousin like this, was a gay teen in Texas. His mom isolated him from the rest of us to the point that, when he slipped away from us entirely, it hardly made a ripple. Nobody in the entire extended family ever talks about him. His mom turned all over demands for perfection on her younger children and acts like he never existed. I met him once, but nobody has said his name in years and now I can't remember it anymore.