your external self has changed greatly,
but i will always know you.
you may feel your new friends and cigarettes
have changed you,
but you're still the same boy i know so well
even when you're high.

when i was a child i had a siamese cat
we found him, alone, abandoned
outside of our home
we took him with us when we left

he never liked to be inside too much
but he loved me with all of his soul
refusing to leave me be and
resting on my lap until my legs were numb

he was aggressive and mean to his own kind
never letting other cats wander upon
his territory, but he expressed a tolerance
for the young kittens next door

one day he began searching the house
climbing into the bathtubs, across furniture
on the counters, meowing incessantly
until he decided to go outside

we opened the door for him and he happily
trotted away, and in the morning we
discovered he found what he was searching for
he was searching for a place to die.

i know this is just what i'm like because this is how i've felt every time i've gotten emotionally close to someone and i don't want to tell you what's wrong and i don't want to admit that i am sad inside because you like me well enough as it is and i don't want to ruin that. i don't want you to worry about me because i know i'll be fine and i'll be better and this sadness i've felt inside for the past six years doesn't define me and doesn't determine whether or not i should be loved. if anything love is something i know i deserve and maybe will help the effects the sadness has on me but i know how it feels to be hurt and my mind tries to pick and choose certain moments to try and disprove everything that you've told me because how? i look in the mirror and i can't see what you see and although that doesn't mean it isn't there they say seeing is believing and how can i believe something i don't see? my legs ache and my stomach hurts and the emptiness in my chest wants me, begs me to find some sort of control and i can't. this isn't something that is able to be controlled or manipulated. it happens or it doesn't, and that's just it.

i'm not sorry
that i wanted sleep
more than your ****.

i suppose there is a lot of unsung symbolism in giving someone a plant, as plants have become an average gift to give in occasions of celebration, such as moving into a new home or graduating from school.

every moment i am with you is a cause for celebration.
you are a celebration.

no matter how many plants i can give you to put on the windowsill in your bedroom will symbolize the celebration i feel in knowing you to it's true color.

because i feel fireworks in my chest brighter and louder than the ones we kissed under and i feel happier and bubblier with you than drinking the alcohol i like to drink too much of and you give me more pleasant thoughts than the color i chose to paint the walls of my bedroom

and no matter how many poems i write
and no matter how many words i say
none of them quite amount to the sheer immensity of what i feel for you

i make a fat joke about myself and
"i don't ever wanna hear you say something like that again," he says
he asks if i am unclear as to why
and i want to ask
if he is unclear as to why
i made it in the first place.

I told you a
while ago that I listen to sad music
when I'm happy
and happy music when I'm sad,
but my friend,
that simply is not true.

at the time I believed it,
because, to put it simply,
I was in a numbing state of sadness,
emptiness and drug use.
But oh God how happy you make me
and how happy I've been.

Now, with a sober mind
and I happy heart I realize
that I wasn't happy,
but I listened to sad music so I could be sad.
Let me explain;
I went to school (high)
and needed to appear happy
so nobody would question my heart.
It's something I learned when I was alone
and had nobody to question my heart.
and then when people started coming back into my life
I wasn't able to stop.
I put on a mask,
smiling,
constantly smiling,
joking, smoking,
loving.
and i only took it off when I was alone,
listening to my music
about love's lost
and hope's crushed.

The truth is that you make me happy,
I'm not wearing a mask,
and I haven't listened to Bright Eyes in weeks.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't think about using every day.
I have dreams about those little yellow pills,
they don't speak to me,
or appear any different than they are in reality,
I just dream about holding them in my hands.

I couldn't do it,
recreational drug use.
I never could
no matter how many times I told myself I wasn't addicted, the truth remained
that I was.
I would tell myself "what kind of ******* is a drug addict, you're not, you're fine."
But I wasn't.
And everyday I have to tell myself "no, you cannot take those pills because you will not be able to stop"
Some days it ends there,
others I get as far as dialing my dealer's number.
Most days it's in the middle.

Being an addict is about having habits;
wake up, take three, (don't eat breakfast, the high will fade faster). Take four once the feeling leaves your legs, and four more before you go to sleep, so you can sleep.
Rinse and repeat; rinse and repeat.

Sobriety is the same way;
wake up, convince your self you don't need it.
Rinse and repeat as needed.

She helps, but she can't replace my addiction.
Although she gets me high, I can't become addicted to her, her lips do not have opiates hidden within,
but they have something better.

I don't think about getting high when I'm with her.
The high I get from her kisses is not dissimilar to that of methodone,
only their is no crash.
The high I get from caressing her thighs shares a likeness with *******,
except it costs love, not cash.
The high I get from hearing her gasp my name as our love making intensifies is very similar to that of hydrocodone,

only much, much better.

as i stand, naked, before a full length mirror
i look at myself in confusion
and i desperately search for why
in every crease and line
throughout every dimple and bone
in between the spider veins and stretch marks
pale skin and scars
this isn't beauty

as i lay, naked, in the warmth of your arms
i look at you with sincerity
and i calmly understand why
in every crease and line
throughout every dimple and bone
in between your blonde hair and blue eyes
pale skin and scars
this is beauty