Admire the proportions, the features, the confidence.
These are supposed to define the ideal male.
These things have nothing to with my perception of ideal.

When I put myself in that position
I call myself Michelangelo, David in front of me.
I admire his proportions, his features, his confidence.

I throw myself so far into the fantasy, reality becomes a fog.
Enamored by him, his features, our closeness.
I am entranced by him, we transcend into the unknown.

I return to reality, and realize that I've gone too far.
I can't take back the words I've said,
or the time I've spent staring into his eyes.

But I'm no Michelangelo and he is not David.
My inspiration is much closer to my heart.

The love in my heart.
The passion beneath the gaze.

When you have low serotonin levels.
When you have low serotonin levels, exercise has never been more important. Unfortunately, all the shaking from said unknown anxieties doesn’t count.  So instead I usually find myself on a bike pedalling furiously away from all my problems.  Or I slip on a pair of sneakers and sprint away towards the greener side.
When you have low serotonin levels, sleep has never been more needed. Sadly, this doesn’t seem to come easy for someone like myself. For some unknown reasons, I can’t get my eyes to shut.  I can’t turn my brain off and my thoughts run wild.
When you have low serotonin levels, coffee has never sounded any better. Coffee seems to cause my shaking to simmer when for most others it would go out of control.  Nothing too sweet, just enough to trickle down my throat. Afterwards, it’s like the fog has been cleared.  The best of course is shared with friends on a cobblestoned street in Europe.  Watching people pass by with smiles on their faces.
When you have low serotonin levels, music has never been more relaxing. Suddenly, all the thoughts are drowned out by someone else’s worries. Instead of my foot bouncing anxiously up and down from nerves, there’s a beat.  If you can give me music to listen to, then you can hear the beat of that rather than the non-rhythmic beat of my anxious feet.
When you have low serotonin levels, friends are the light in a world full of shadows.  They allow me to laugh and smile.  They are what push me to not be afraid.  I talk to them, and suddenly I’m more myself than I have been in months.  I’m laughing, I’m smiling. I’m making jokes.  When I do cry, I have them to lean on.  And I’m forever in their debt.
When you have low serotonin levels, optimism is key. You have to believe you see.  Try and wake up and smile.  Love yourself and those around you. Laugh until your stomach aches.  Cry until a small river has been made.
These are the thoughts from an anxious worrier.
And I don't want to tell you. I don’t have to tell you. Things could be different and I could be somewhere else. But no. Instead I am here.
I don’t want to have to tell you. But maybe you should know.

The difficult thing about a love poem
is that it doesn’t want to be one.
You see! I’ve already let the meter go
wherever it wants to roam, for the sake of fun,
and to make my point. It’s sort of like the way
our feet get tangled when we sleep, and we trip
into each other’s dreams. Poetry can’t contain
how gently you kissed me — even when I was sick.
This type of love requires an honesty
that poetry can’t express. A careful glance,
chocolates, red wine and all the rest
can’t capture the drunk-in-love ways we’ve danced — 
or the magic of long plants. But who’ll blame me for
trying to count the ways that I adore you?
             
                                           —and in fourteen lines, no less.

drip! drip! drip!
another bloodline decayed
i close my eyes and again i'm depraved.

i hold this key and it opens no door
your stare blisters me...
but leaves me wanting more.

"i'd rather die," i say, with your fist pressed to my cheek
               "i need you here," you say, as you cry...
                                  my face is bleak.