i am a tiger disguised as a house cat -
stretching my lithe body against the rays of the sun,
beckoning the naive to stroke my snow white coat.

i am a hornet with the visage of a butterfly -
spreading my wings in a flurry of scarlet,
blinding the pure in my dazzling flight.

i am a wolf wrapped tightly in sheep's clothing -
silently and peacefully at rest,
inviting the blessed to gather me in their arms.

i am a siren of old -
calling the innocent to me with a whispered song,
waiting for the **** with a shining smile.

i harbor no regrets.
i am fiery hell with an angel's face.

i do not find god hovering above cold stone altars.
i do not find the almighty trapped inside a loaf of bread.
i do not find salvation in marble statues of virgins and carpenters
or fervent and pious prayers written years ago by people i've never met.

i do not feel redeemed as i'm told to sink to my knees in a chapel.
i do not feel saved when i'm asked to weep in repentence at confession.
i do not feel filled or satisfied as i watch dozens of haggard mothers
struggle in vain to herd their children through winding communion lines.

my eternity is in the gentle swell of waves at high tide.
my forever is in the wisps of the clouds; white as cotton in the sky.
my purpose is in the touch of a hand, the warmth of a smile -
in the ringing sound of laughter carried away on autumn breezes.

there is nothing i hate more
than the words you speak to me
when your blueprint plans
to erase my face are foiled by reality.

cordial hellos, mumbled goodbyes -
empty,
petty
and worthless.

you stand there with eyes
trained carefully on the floor,
making sure that your tense body
stays a lifetime away from mine -
acting as if fingertips brushing
or breath mingling is a holocaust;
struggling for something to say
when your whispered words
used to flow like liquid gold into my ear.

your voice comes back to me
like the second frost of winter coming again
to claim the last flower left standing.

let me become a stranger to you -
you are a stranger to me.

there were hearts torn apart between grey cement walls
long before our ****** eyes had ever skimmed the top stair
and realized that there was more to what we knew than four floors.

there were kisses shared atop cold concrete landings
long before our ****** lips had ever grazed one another
and realized that there was more to what we were than 'just friends'.

i used to get lost near hand rails scarred in blues and blacks,
pencils and pens, leftover acrylics and newly purchased sharpie ink;
searching endlessly for your next message,
cleverly hidden among senseless graffiti and professions of love.

every day, a new confession. every day, a new truth. every day, a new letter -
hoping desperately that one day, you would spell out 'love'.

and there you were - as still and as perfect as a statue against the wall;
your arms outstretched to pull me close and your body soaking up the sound
so that echoes in the stairwell were less like gunshots and more like whispers.

there is nothing in the world that is quite as painful
as watching someone stare down the barrel of a loaded gun
when you're the only one praying for a jam.

there is nothing in the world that is quite as painful
as watching someone pitch and stumble to the ground
when you're the only one hoping for a blackout
before he gets the chance to empty the bottle.

there is nothing in the world that is quite as painful
as watching someone shake and teeter,
sweat and scream, knock and pound on his dealer's door
when you're the only person wishing that needles had never
pierced his skin and pills had never fallen past his lips.

i wish i could rip/it out when you speak and my/heart still skips a beat.