The feeling of dread in my chest.
The panic in my heart.
The swirling thoughts in my head.
The tunnel vision focus.
I made a fool of myself again yesterday, and the morning is full of regret.

I want to react, but I know that to react is to make it worse.
I want to fix it.  But behaviors cannot be undone.
I want to climb into the hole I just dug, and ignore the world now.
I want to stop thinking that my life holds so much importance.  That my actions make such a difference.  I want to stop worrying so much about if people like me, or what people think of me.  I want to remember that the world always has abundant opportunities for growth,  love, and friendship.  That to be uncomfortable now, is simply a period of reflection about who I am, and who I want to be.  To be scared of myself, is like fearing my own shadow, it's not living.

So I pick up my bleeding heart, my heavy head, and my swollen conciousness, and I take a shower, and start a new day.

What the tears of a man say
Even though you saw it
You couldn't believe
He believes something different
But what he felt at that moment
Was alive inside the mother of a dead child

You don't like the answers
And you don't what to feel them either
Like a poor hungry child
Who is taught something different
Something that cannot be proven
Just like the things we believe

Maybe we should decide
In the moment we make love
Or when we have been pushed too far
Or have lost someone we love
Is that the moment to decide?
Or is it the moment we should ignore?

Would you say that it is fear
That makes you question their love
For their children or their race
What would you say that it is
That makes you fear for the freedom
That has already been taken from them?

So many Sophisticated Words..
clickety, clic, Believing..
True Love.
clickety, clic... shh
tap, tap, tap..
a lovers persuasive ways

Desire, Lifted Up, Free  Breath Becoming
Essence.
Pure Allowing
Love's  SOUL
Wild, until It Becomes Fire Again..

White Water of Intending
Intend Thee This
A Minds Eye,
with the inky Goodness of a Hard Pen
Rocking Mystery.
Laid upon the Soft Paper
of Amen's Scribe in Waiting...
Certain Victory for the Out Come.

This House is Mine.

i've lied my whole life
writing love poems
and pretending to fall in love
and pretending to care
just to hide this

sociopath

they say i'm a monster
they call me the devil
i didn't ask for this

just because i can't feel for you
doesn't mean i can't feel.