(the gate is a crowded mess, please no special requests, be thankful you got a seat, this flight is sold out and I’m beat.  
I get up and stand on my chair and say)

I give thanks for:

the uncommon greatness of common sense

for the steady approach of that wondrous day when
kindness is neither random or unexpected,
but the rule, not the exception

for our opinions and deeds, that are our own,
derived without coercion, born from our thoughts and observations and that
we are equal to both
owning them and to
changing them

that we live in a time that friendships can grow just through the quick exchange of words leaping bounds

for eyes that see deep deeper than skin,
ears that hear
what those ashamed wish you didn’t, hands that grasp regardless of distance,
the taste of  kisses that come easy sweet  

for the  day when I at last knew,
the pleasure of giving
so far exceeded receiving,
that giving and receiving became
synonymous

that I learned that the best skill to possess  is
to anticipate
the needs of others

that my lucky position in this world permits me
to act on the things for
which I am thankful

that someday I will need no longer inquire,
are you my poem,
for the answer will be self-evident to us both

There's a hole in my wall,
It's been there a while.
You ask why it's there,
And I nervously smile.
You offer to fix it,
I politely decline.
It doesn't need fixing,
It's perfectly fine.
I like it there,
But you still insist.
If that hole weren't there,
I wouldn't exist.
You won't give in,
You are rudely persistent.
You assure me that,
It'll be fixed in an instant.
Do you fix it for me,
Or is it only for you?
Now there are left,
Not one hole, but two.

Do you think the night sky knows it's dark,
That it's invisible purely because of the sun,
The lacking of the light.
Do you think it knows that it's part of a unfathomable universe,
Do the stars know how important they are?
Does a tree understand they're breathing for us?
Have you ever stood by a tree and looked up,
Held its bark, marvelled at its roots and reasoned with your body,
That this connection is imperative to your survival,
As are the stars?
If you had more capacity to use your unconscious brain would you understand shame? Or Love?
Would you understand, the feeling of shame is so powerful it is a deathly toll, a weight, a pit and a maze.
It fills you up, every crevice,
Every knot, in every pumping noise,
Every heartbeat.
Is it love that survives, in all these things?
In the dark, in the oxygen, in the bad places,
Was it true to feel all these feelings, and not understand them?
Are we motivated now by adulation, or adoration,
When did we become such beings of instant gratification, from simply stars and budding trees?
When did survival become a face we needed to utter words of safety, or strong hands to hold,
Do you think we know how dark we are?
Do you think we are stars, or the wind,  or love?
Are we unadulterated in our obsession with fear?
Are we hedonistic in our shame?
How we were simple beings in a place without light; at times, we thrive in the dark
How we have convinced ourselves we are bones to be broken, minds to be shattered and hearts to be disillusioned beyond disillusionment.

Do you think we know we are alive, enough?
Do you think the trees know when the wind stops blowing?
Do you think the sky knows it's dark?

Blue tinted lips,
Curved round at their edges,
Not quite candor,
In what they choose to convey

Blue tinted lips,
Growing frost in the bitter cold,
Lifeless yet living,
A mask for your purple corpse

Blue tinted lips,
Drowning thoughtlessly,
In the indigo ocean,
Surrounding your burnt out head