Just think about it..
Right now, someone you love
thinks they're not good enough..

For someone who they love.
When to you, they're perfect.
In fact they're more than perfect
Because of their small imperfections combined.

Someone right now, doesn't like their hair.
Doesn't like their size, hates their own laugh.
Someone right now thinks perfect means Barbie
But Barbie is plastic and perfect is real.
... Well, you're real.

Well, you're my perfect.

You say doctors will
make the best poets.
They will search your emotions
by the skin; cutting open to reveal
and revel
with surgical precison.
They will play with
heavy drugs and blades--
nothing shall hide beneath
the armors of bone and muscle.
They know the anatomy
of the heart too well.
They will find the things
you have hidden in your chest.

I say
doctors will never be poets.
They are too mechanical,
too fast with their edges
and ridges.
They cannot see the pain
as pain but merely as an anomaly.
That sadness is black bile
not melancholia.
They cannot sing to you
but only clammer in medical jargon.

Poets will use their imperfect words,
and perfect rhymes
to find the secrets of your rib cage
with ease.
They will find every flaw
of your broken body
and make it the best story
you've never heard.

Doctors,
they will put love to define as
a momentary rush of adrenaline,
an arrythmia for another human
caused due to an imbalance of the heart rhythm.

Poets will tell you
that love is the first jolt
of life for them.
They will say love is a state of euphoria
that takes those irregular rhythms to perfect symphonies.

Doctors say that
veins carry blood
devout of oxygen.
I say that they carry your broken emotions
to their feelings factory
to mend it within its beautiful catacombs.

All those doctors
will find and fix you
with perfect solutions.

And these poets
will do their best
to be your perfect solution.

and inside i was a tide
but all they saw were barely ripples
and inside i was screaming
but no one heard me begging there

And inside i was a mess
but they decided that my hair was neat
and that i was already clean
because they didnt see the shadows lurking under my eyes
or the dust collecting in my thoughts

and when i wasnt even hiding
when i knelt down and prayed
you said that you were always there
but you never dared to answer me

because i am still ******* here
and though i beg for you to let me go
i wake up and my heart still beats...
i thought you were always listening

and inside i was dead
how i wished that the outside
would show it

I would kiss you
until the stars threw themselves from the heavens
and begged to be clothed in flesh and blood
that they might burn
as brightly as we.

I thought I could hold onto you,
That the emptied hallways
Of my mind
Would be perfectly,
Deeply
And eternally
Engraved
With every detail of
You.

But now you're fading
Faster than winter's sunset
From a frost-wearied body.

And all I can remember
Is the feeling of
Your heartbeat against my cheek
And your gentle lion's eyes.

pressing the tight muscles of my shoulders
hard against the stillness of the air

leaning into the melody and out of it again

my fingers not unlike grasping claws
trying to pull music from
a dead thing
that does not love me
the way
it used to.

you have robbed me of my music,
of the words that would
flow in elegant waves from my willing fingers,
refreshing as water but not nearly as
cliche.

the melodies
that raised the veins in my neck
when i spoke them to the mirror
and the windshield,
that left me breathless
heart pounded
half-smiling
into the beautiful vortex of my
spired mind.


they're gone now.


and i'm left with a dead horse slung across both shoulders
and an albatross
around my neck.

As we spoke and I
found myself safe in your eyes
I suddenly saw
what you have given me

His hands link with mine,
our arms create a matching line,
his patterned lightly by freckles,
and we're sitting on the
summer porch at dusk.

He loves me.

but only because
you showed me the secret
I had kept from myself:

that my eyes can see into souls
my laugh can turn hearts
my smile can make blood race.
that my words, my thoughts, my loves
and hate, my
passion and fire and tears,
my temper and my gentleness,
my utter ridiculousness and
my absolute
poise,
my total seriousness
and surprising propensity
for laughter,
my complex flaws and nuanced perfections,
that I,
me,
everything I am and all
I will ever be
is worth something.

And could be someone's everything.

This is the secret you have pulled
from the depths of my maybe not-so-broken soul,
cupping it in the careful curve of your hands,
holding it out to me,
fragile like a newborn but growing stronger
all the time.
And I'll take it in my nervous palms
and the warmth will fill me
and I will live like new
because of this precious truth that only
you
could have extracted
from the labyrinth
of a deep and winding heart,
that only you could have known well enough
cared for deeply enough
to traverse the dark passages long enough
to find
my lonely light.