Don't worry, love,
I know those gates of stone
stand firmly
to guard the most precious parts
of your soul.

I am not here like the others;
not as a warrior
planning a siege
or a strategist
plotting to knock them down.

I respect your walls too much.

You have fought in more wars
than most;
you have been betrayed by more loves
than most could survive -
your walls are the result
of your scars.

So here I stand before you,
my weapons laid down,
my intentions spread out before the Sun,
with nothing in my hands
but open palms,
asking you
to let me in.

Show me, love,
all those terrible,
beautiful
wild flowers
growing in your garden -
I want to do nothing
but paint them to remember,
and carry their fallen petals
safely in my heart.

Open up to me, please,
my love -
I am already yours.

I glide through the crowd
Blood rushes to my face
My hands stick with sweat
My lips open and close in prayer
But I am silent.

I stare at a wall
The carpet, a painting, a book,
But my mind will not focus.
Anything to hide the panic.
To hide the fear.

Tears are now a threat.
My panic wants to escape
But I am in public
I am being watched, observed under a microscope, scrutinised.
I must not cry.

It is as though I am
A foreigner in this world.
I want my home, locked doors,
But I do not want solitude.
I wish I were brave.

no, I'm not talking about the ones with big noses
or greasy hair

not the ones with bad breath
or round bellies

no, I just like them raw
a little broken, a little sad

the ones with scars
a story to tell

I sure know how to pick em' you might say
but I'd never give them up any day

a whole adventure in a person like the outdoors
one with canyons and mountains he would let me explore
only ugly guys give themselves all at once
no parts hidden, everything is exposed

vulnerability is thought to be a weakness but in reality it's bold

I like ugly guys.

The release of energy

Such as I cathartically spewed out mine;

You shiver.

Do I bother you that much?

Yet;

Even if you are bothered,

I'll still feel the same way;

It doesn't define how I really am;

If you could see how I'm capable

Of making you feel the same way;

As I cathartically spew out my energy;

Hold my hand.

*Maybe then you'd see why.

my head is too light

         lights are too bright
         bright is the night
        
         somebody hold me
         tight
        
         for i know i'll wake up
         sad tomorrow







        
         no matter how much
         i hide,
         it follows;
        
         always by my-side
         somewhere back
         in my mind
        
         somewhere here
         black in my time
         even when
         i'm feeling fine

         stopping the world
         from reaching me

         there's no reasoning
         no season in
         when you're stuck in
         this place

         mesmerised by a face
         or stuck in a maze
         nor dead or amazed

         begging for a moment
         silent and kind

         away from this
         endless emptiness,
         and eyes blind
        
         there's so much violence
         that i cannot find,
        
         my voice in this noise
         of nothingness,
        
         that's brings me every
         night
         some circus of sorrow,
         and pain

         somebody hold me
         tight
        
         for i know i'll wake up
         sad tomorrow,
         again.

you're still as beautiful as the morning sky, the reason to my rhyme,

don't care about that many miles, i don't have any lines to combine,

words don't save you when you're blind.

i needed somebody and i found you,

so thank you for being there for me, when it was the time,

i'm so sorry that i had so much hate in me, that i wasn't right in my mind,

but i hope you're alright and everything's fine, you still smile-

and that you're closer to that place that you always wanted to find,

i know you have it in you to shine, bird, i know it now, i knew it then, when you were mine.  

so one of a kind, but i guess it's fine 'cause we are all designed to forget with time

and before i do, i want to say thank you before i forget you, and after all it's you,

so i don't have to say anything to you, for the laughter was true, as true as you was and I,

and i know you'll miss me too, it's a good-bye.

"Sometimes I tire
of poems
about poets,"*

said the poet.