This is for the imperfect drunk...
The hopeless ******....
I too have been the bottles *****....
Outweighed by a gram....
I seen the world at ground level....
Because shame kept my head heavy like lead...
The world had so many ideas that were spoken in meloncholy tones.....
With so many answers how could i fail.......
As i hurt myself one more time I reached for a band-aid.....
But with tears and pain in my eyes all i got called was failure....
Like a bruised muscle i nursed my broken soul...
And when I realized I no longer wanted superficial assistance....
It was easier on my pride to put down the evil....
Because the lies people fed were spoken taunts....
it may not have a "Why" or a " What"....
But my question is" Why" do you like to judge me when im weak.....
And "What" is the answer that will make you happy...
This is not "What" makes me happy..
"Why" cant you see that??

The boy sitting by his locker
While the horde heads to Wendy's
Likes to read Emily and Sylvia.

The girl with the flowing floral muumuu
And tatoo reading Nature likes
Ralph, George and Robert.

The man standing in the apse
Of St. Patrick's reads
Milton and Blake.

The mother reads Dr. Seuss, often,
The same story, over and over again.

And who reads me?
All of the above?
None of the above?

Forgive me, love.

My affection for you
cannot be conveyed
in words or poems.

It is a well that
must be drunk from
by your own lips.

It needs the language
of fingers and kisses
and skin and sighes.

When we reach
the moment
when we can speak
the tactile tongue
of love face to face,
you will know just
who I am and why
I need you in my life.

Until then, these
poor words must suffice.

Take them, a part of me,
and all I can give
in this moment.

Let me stain your magic majesty;
sick a tempest on your tapestry-
tear those flags of modesty.
What is wine but rotten fruit,
and disguised euphoria that follows suit.
So let innocence fade,
cast in each other's shade.