You want people to see from your perspective

But it is not easy you see?

Not everybody has the same schemata as you have

Not everybody experiences what you’ve experienced

Not everybody thinks the way you do

It is just not easy



But is it that important to make people see from YOUR point of view?



Because

If everybody thinks the way you do

If everybody knows what you know

You’ll no longer be just You

You’ll be Us

And We’ll be You.

It would be this one
It will tell you alot
                            
                          Dear

I had a note for you I scratched on this envelope
but it was ruined in the rain
it used to read so well
now the only word not melted is

                         Jessica

Ruined. So I picked up my pencil sure that this time
Just this once I could write words enough to make you mine
but there
alone on the page in naked pencil waiting

                          I

But i can't start with i
that is so selfish
so
i
begin to go agian
trying to make a something out of all the nothing
but its hard to name a poem so how 'bout let's call it

                       Love

No GOD NO
that is way too tacky
what would she think
So embarassing
So childish
So simple
You don't deserve the simple
You deserve the incredible
The awe-inspiring fire


                                  You

and there it stops me
lost and more lost
because when I think of you
all the fire is kindled


                                   You
are my evreything

so i put down this pencil
and write in my head
a future I have seen once or twice
in the lonely corner of a dream



                                     Dear Jessica I love you
                        I carved on that tree
                        In the noise of summer bugs claws birds wings breeze
                        I saw you smile walking towards me
                        Your feet silent on the blanket of the warm grassy ground
                         Your pale feet smeared with mud
                        It was in a june, july or august
                        A quiet summer dream
                         Me and you far out in nowhere
                        As the record singer plays the song
                         "Together"
                            (that song)

                        In a meadow
                          Dreaming
                        I know I felt it in the warm of your hair
                        When you wrapped your arms around me
                        You kissed me soft on the neck
                         I felt your skin as you squeezed me
                         Your eyes were so close
                          Close to my mind
                          and in a moment of your laughter
                           and in a moment of your joy
                                          a moment forgetting
                            life and all the noise
                            
                         I felt your breath sweet
                         I felt your whisper soft
                            melting the glue in my mind
                        In my dream I knew you kissed me
                         In my life you will never see me
                        
                I traded this moment for all that I had
                      and rode the river Styx to the belly of hell
                       and rode the river Styx while humming that song

When I was eight, I threw a rock at my cat.
I wanted something to love me, and he
didn't. Unfamiliar with rage and unskilled
at throwing rocks, I missed and hit the fence.
I was and am ashamed of this.
I wasn't that kind of kid.

Once, a boy sent me photos from Scotland,
daybreak over  the snowy moors where he
hunted grouse with his father. He was skinny,
and sweet. I stopped writing him because I
had a thousand words for love, and he
couldn't spell any of them.

And once, I took your love for granted. It was vanity;
I felt like the lost works of a prolific master.
I wanted someone to delight in discovering me,
to wonder where I had been. It was easy to
blame you; all those years and you didn't
know what you had.

If you believe in all possible universes,
I aimed for the fence and hit the cat.
I married a sweet, skinny boy who will never
love a poem. I never had anything to prove
and I don't need you to forgive me.

Back and forth,
side-to-side;
moving in constant motion,
trying to decide.
"Well," I think,
"Which way to go?"
Go?

Grass flutters in the wind,
water droplets sparkle and glimmer
in the sunlight;
"Well," I say,
"I think I'll stay right here."