Loving*
                               is
                                                                ­  too
                                 *mainstream
                but
                                ­                being
                                                                ­                  loved
                                                               back
                                                is
                                                                ­                     not.

don't feel sorry for me.
I am a competent,
satisfied human being.

be sorry for the others
who
fidget
complain

who
constantly
rearrange their
lives
like
furniture.

juggling mates
and
attitudes

their
confusion is
constant

and it will
touch
whoever they
deal with.

beware of them:
one of their
key words is
"love."

and beware those who
only take
instructions from their
God

for they have
failed completely to live their own
lives.

don't feel sorry for me
because I am alone

for even
at the most terrible
moments
humor
is my
companion.

I am a dog walking
backwards

I am a broken
banjo

I am a telephone wire
strung up in
Toledo, Ohio

I am a man
eating a meal
this night
in the month of
September.

put your sympathy
aside.
they say
water held up
Christ:
to come
through
you better be
nearly as
lucky.

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore--
And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

I hate you and the way you ruin people that love you and how well you lie without blinking and I hate how miserably you fail at trying and the way you try but trying isn't changing unless you change what you've been trying to change and you're just no good at trying only good at hating and breaking beautiful things and taking things that make you want to just ******* take your life and break it by tearing out the seams of this waking curse of a dream inside the nightmare where you belong in an un-followed hearse lovingly dead to the ongoing muttering of persons who hated you and to whom you must have hated too you stupid fool how we hate what you do and who you are and I hate that you are dying and untruthful and I hate what you did and what you didn't do and I hate that you spread hatred and dam sweet rivers and leave trails of love in broken pieces but the happy people don't mind it and tell you to forgive yourself with big sloppy smiles and don't see the dark clouds inside you and you hate them all too don't you yes each slop-filled one of them and I have a feeling that you hate my writing this down for people to see but not as much as I hate that you're me.

Everything about you is wonderful to me.
Everything.
I want to know everything about you,
I want to know what the kids called you in 4th grade on the playground
I want to know who your first boyfriend was and what your dad wanted to do when he broke your heart
I want to know who your favorite 80's synthopop band is
I want to know what you think of when you wake up at 4:26 in the morning with a stiff neck
I want to know what color you wish your softest skirt was
and I want to buy it for you.
I want to pick every single flower on earth and fill your arms with them.

I want to hear your voice when you're sick in bed
and I want to know what kind of tea to bring you
I want to know what movie you watch when you can't do it anymore
because that boy in your history class wouldn't stop calling you that word and ******* it you are not that word but this movie makes you feel better and it always has (it did in 4th grade when they called you that name on the playground)

I want to know which side of your face you prefer to have photographed
I want to know who you pray for
and if you think anybody is listening.

I want to know what your mother wanted to name you before your father convinced her otherwise because "Honey, do you really want our daughter to grow up being called that and have her know that we are responsible?"

I want to know if you like the feel of cold hardwood floor on your feet in the morning or the feel of carpet when you first take your rain boots and socks off after stomping puddles.

******* it, I want to know everything about you
so I can love every single one of those things with an intensity
the devout Christian envies.