To those who are offended by me:
When we met one another, I told you exactly what I am.
I promise you I did.
It is not my fault
That you chose not to believe me.

I have a desire to be free in ways that would destroy me, in ways that aren't accepted in this world. I have a need to be free in ways that don't even exist, from things that are such parts of my continued existence as a being that to get what I need would be to cease. I am a lover who has found nothing to take the love I have. I cannot stand to be near anyone, but I crave closeness in such a desperate, painful way that it controls me. I am a logical, orderly, sound, carefully crafted mind, trapped inside the chaos of a soul that I cannot be sure was ever made to withstand the kind of feelings it itself produces constantly. Without the handicap of my humanity, I would be free, disentangled from this web of useless little things I care about. The one that trusses up my legs and trips me and no matter how I try to find the pattern in it, reason has no power against this trap. Power has no power against this snare. I can solve anything, escape anything, survive anything, disassemble anything. But I can't solve myself. And I feel like a wasted opportunity, a consciousness that maybe COULD actually do something meaningful, tragically held back by the hitchhiker of a soul that has come along for the ride to slash the tires. I want to be free of impossible things. But I am an impossible thing, and every morning I wake up and the little part of me that knows things whispers, "You will never be free." What a way to start the day.

Scarves. high collars,
or extra mascara
hide the brownish-purple
disfigurement wrapped
around her throat.

Part of her being
is scarred with
remnant traces
inflicted from traumatic
scenes endured
during his rage.  

Horrific echoes
careen around her brain
like video clips replaying
the self-hatred he
spilled upon her.

His crazed lashes
struck her
bone deep.  
Musty smells
from those moments
linger among her nostril mucus.

She carries on
distracted with moments
near tranquil music
or beside still brooks
and squawking crows.

Each day she captures
views of sunrise
and sunset while chanting
mantras to unknown gods
striving to complete
her forgiveness.

You
Are not my crutch.
You've named yourself
But you've got it all wrong.
Even when I crawled through life
I never even took a hand up.
I've never leaned on
Anyone
And I never intend to.
I have no crutch.
I am no *******.
I am simply
Something you have never seen before
And may never see again.
(It takes a certain madness to walk
This tightrope.)
I have no crutch. I have no support.
But
I have my knowledge
That when I fall I will not hit the ground.
That if I am to tumble from love and life
I may be bruised
But I will not be
Broken.
I have someone waiting to catch me.
And you
Are not her, either.
Darling, you are what I want.
You are who
I want.
But you are not my constant.
You do not rise in the east
And set in the west
And I do not expect
That you coax every living thing that grows
Up from under the soil
And give it life.
I cannot count on you
To keep me warm when I am shivering
And that
Is okay
And that
Was never the point.
You are like the stars-
Never in quite the same place,
Bright and guiding some nights,
Shrouded in misty clouds on others,
And that
Is why I love you so.
Elusive and divine,
You shape the night into a glittering sheet of velvet but you
Are not the sun
And I do not want you to be.
I've got someone
I know will always come back and light my life up.
I've got
My safety net of sunbeams.
I am reaching for the stars,
And I want them to set my heart aflame
And print constellations of white light
Along my tender skin
But
Make no mistake
I neither want
Nor expect them
To make the grass grow
Steady beneath my feet.