When you get tired
Of roaming the earth,
Will my name be on your lips
As you recall the sweet memory
Of strawberry wine and rose hips
Perfume in the air
You breathed under the stars with me
On the night you told me you loved me,
You wanted to grow old with me
But first you had to go see the world?

Have you seen enough?
Climbed enough mountains?
Sailed enough seas?
*Are you ready to come home to me?

Listen.
I know you've lived longer
Than my short quarter century life.
I know you've seen more,
Done more, loved more,
Touched more, tasted more,
Experienced more things than i.
I know you're only trying to help.
I appreciate the giving of advice.
I know you mean well
When you say it's time to give them up,
It's time to move on,
To be my own person,
To learn to live for only myself.
But you haven't lived through
The total decimation of your family.
You haven't watched as the lives
Of your loved ones fall into utter ruin
One by one.
You weren't relegated to helpless paralysis
By the fear that you'd lose them all
And by the depression that came with knowing
You couldn't even help yourself.
You don't know what it feels like
To have the dagger of abandonment,
The shattered shards of broken hearts,
The pinpoint needles of disillusionment,
The three-pronged fork of misunderstanding,
****** into your soul over and over
By every lemon life throws your way.
You don't know what it is to stand
On the brink of death
Because if you don't have them,
You have nothing.
You still have your family.
All intact and whole.
So don't begrudge me
My clutching, grasping, clinging attempts
At keeping what remnants of a family I have
Together.
I will not let them go
Until they have to be pried
From my dead hands.
And even then, I will still be loyal.

*They are all i have.

My composure is just illusion.
A mastery to hide the confusion of,
Having to explain my babbling..'
Or why my heart is pounding..
Hands shaking...
Head spinning..
Palms sweating..
Panic attack brimming..
Because.. publicly speaking wasn't meant for me
I suffer from social anxiety,
And it is awkward and agoraphobic.

Call it paranoia
Or insanity.
Or both.
Because it is..

I will never be able to open up like,
"Normal" people do.
Even though I..
Want to..
Tell you,
I love you..
And need you..
And thank you..
But instead I..
Silently write my woes,
Things I wish i could say to,
Family, friends, and foes.

I have a hole in my stomach
And you think it's because I worry
About money or material possessions.
You take pity on me
For my young age and inexperience
And naïveity and general paucity.
You think you're magnanimous,
Benevolent and chivalrous.
To stoop to where I stand
In the gutter, covered
With the sweat and tears
And shards of a broken heart
Left behind by life's disappointments,
Stand alone with no one
To pull me up when I get knocked down
By the chaos that swirls
In the muck by my feet,
Stand weary and weakened
In body and soul
At having to combat the demons
Your memories invoke,
Stand lowered in your opinion
Because of my pauper's condition--
To stoop--a great commendation to your name.
But I don't care about your money,
Your gifts or your charity.
I've never cared about what you can do for me.
All I want is for once in our lives,
Your hand would reach out empty
Of things, of gifts, of material monies,
But full of kindness and empathy.

It's not what you do,
But who you are.