Your love wasn't the kind
that knocked me off my feet;
I still stood tall

Your love wasn't the kind
That made me stumble;
I still felt strong

But your love
has grown on me,
And I can't escape

I dream at night
of what would happen
if your love should leave

I would be left to face
the world on my own and,
I am certain I would fall

Because without your love
to help keep me tall,
I will get knocked off my feet

Without your love
to keep me stong,
I will stumble

His observant mind held
      Strands of coded bonds
      Fond of expressions for
      Incisive presentations
      Of what could be foretold.

      He metastasized thought
      And tempted his youth,
      unraveling behavior
      favoring adult endeavors
      And here I permit my fist
      Beneath my chin in complacency

      Statuesque, pondering whether
      My decisions are remnants of bloodlines,
      Coupled complexes attractive to be subtractive
      To my true desires

      Whether his dismays maybe in part
      To inquiries of adolescent angst
      The repetitive cycle remains with
      Finding one’s embodiment of identity