Exquisitely flawed in all the right places
Like the keys on the piano that  sits abandoned
Your ebony keys complement my ivory so well
But dust collects and you never notice
So I fall away quietly
Retreating like a soldier
Who knows he will not win the inner battle before him
Quietly quietly
Silently go
Where no one sees you
Nobody knows
I built up my fortress
A place full of pride
Full of hatred
Your pent up lies
A promise broken
A heart is torn
I'll stay in my castle
Where my poetess is reborn
*Quietly quietly
Silently go
Where all the others fear to tread
I will lye down this weary head
Exquisitely flawed in all the right places
You are the man with many faces

A father rocks his newborn to sleep. He can hear the child sleeping soundly against his heart beat. He falls asleep thinking of his unborn  son crying out:

"Daddy!", he cries.
"Stay, Daddy please!" he whimpers.
"Stay for mommy, don't go with your 'family'!" he cries, felling his saddened mother's heartbeat.
"Mommy needs help, we need help," he screams as silently as he can "we need a provider!".

  As he lay asleep in his mother's womb, he can feel the sadness in her heart, see his father walking towards the door and hear them arguing day by day.

"Mommy's sad, she can't do it alone!" he begs.
"Don't take your keys, Don't take your bags"
Please don't leave, We need you to stay! he pleads.
Please stop fighting, It's not good for me!" he cries.

The father reawakens with tears in his eyes knowing that he almost left and never looked back.

If all wishes came true,
The world would be
Really   messy.

To trust,
Let people in,
Relationships.
That's what he said.
That psycologist with
Grey hair
Thinning,
Just like my relationships.
Lonely, hating, loathing myself,
Pain being controlled by addictions,
Shame,
My same shame increases the circles,
Addictions,
Running circles in my head--
Wanting to draw circles with a knife.
STOP THINKING.
My circles of friends growing smaller,
Isolate as the weather becomes cold,
My heart, iced, caged,
No trust, no love.
No one could love me anyway.
Right?
Wrong way thinking through this thick head
Makes it worse.
Wearing through my thin soul,
This pain, pleasure?
No. Run run away from this,
Soles of my shoes thining,
Just like the grey hair--
The psychologist's head.
Trust, love, relationships.
No shame in mistakes.
Let people in?

I always thought I never needed that.