I can see the smile,
mimicking the crescent.
Hovering by the curtain,
peeking, prodding, Pushing.
But nothing seems as fake
as the flowers in that gilded vase.
Waiting to bloom, in shrouded anticipation.
Filled with disgust at the life they sustain,
So young, so naive.
Foolishly trusting.
Scorn curling my lips,
I walk away.
Leaving everything behind.
Everything that anchors me to this bottomless void.
Forsaking...Freedom.

It takes this boy three words to figuratively melt all my literal progress, to turn my thoughts right back into the whirlwind of memories I've spent the past twelve months trying to silence. At last, I stopped hearing his voice in the howling wind but two missed calls and a couple 2AM texts later and I can't think straight. I see his smile in the spaces between my fingers and LOOK ALIVE, SUNSHINE ricochets around my skull, firing my synapses sharply while his hurricane laughter echoes between my neurons.

Three words to rip all of my unexpressed feelings from their neatly-packed shoe boxes and send them swirling around my head in that violent vortex that took a year to subdue.

Three words to unleash the chaos I had finally repressed.

When will my
                Weakness become strength,
How do       I become stronger than my
                Hopelessness ,
Yearning      for the peace that
                 Yielding would bring.

Yes.
I know.
It is irrational for me to think like this.
I poke holes, second guess
and jackhammer at my own foundation.
But, you see, I do care even when
I come off as crass or I dishearten
your image of me.

I
Just
Can't
Stop
Myself

These destructive feelings
and urges towards relationships
are deep rooted in a fear
of abandonment.
I'm a battered man.
Batting below average.
Yet, every chance I get
I bunt or try to get hit
because that's more comfortable to me
Than swinging and missing.

But I do care. I really just don't know how to show it.
I hold on too long to brief moments
that seem to pass from memories
as if I stole them. I'm just nostalgic.
It's the little things that are big to me
and the silly stuff that resonates profoundly.

I do understand though.
The burden of my depression
rests solely on my shoulders.
It's not something I can brush off or
roll over. I just hope that you all
bear with me as I tunnel my way
out of this insanity.

I ask you for a smile and you hand me a crushing blow.
I turn to you for comfort from the pain you have caused in hopes that you will embrace me and erase the tear stains from my face, you run a blade of anger and bitterness in my heart.
And then, for only a moment, you will reach to me with the promise of love, you are in need of love, support and encouragement.
I will not hesitate to freely give it, even knowing that you will turn savage once again and devour the heart that lifted you up.
I hear your voice please to me for patience, understanding and guidance; all of which are immediately delivered and once you feel result you decide I need to be punished for loving you.
I offer you repeated opportunities to quiet the raging storm of agony and anger, but I am struck until I bleed for being so arrogant to assume that I could help you with love.
If you loved me you would stop whipping my already shredded skin and heal my wounds with the love and peace you keep promising......some day.
I beg you for mercy and give you unconditional love, and your response?
Ultimate rejection coupled with one more emotional assault.
Have I not bled enough? Are there not enough gaping wounds in my soul?
Where is your heart burried that you refuse to see me lying weeping on the floor asking for mercy and only for you to accept my heart and me?
How is it that you could find my soul's deepest desire insufficient?
I mourn the death of my hopes for us, and have only dreams left of the man I fell in love with.
Broken

What can I do to make you see
what the world can truly be
and the endless possibilities
that are out there for you, and me.

What can I do to make you smile
for you to sit back and stay awhile,
to get you out of your comfort zone,
to show you that you're not alone.

What can I do to make you laugh
about something other than your crumbling path,
why can't I help you open your eyes
to look ever so slightly on the brighter side.

Just get up.
Get up, and feel the thrill of being alive,
I want you to be your best and thrive.

Just wake up.
Wake up, from this hazy nightmare,
wade through the depths of your own despair.

If you ever get there,
come and find me.
I'll be waiting beneath the old willow tree.

It's the one filled with memories
of what is and what used to be.
Under the constellations of wonder and awe,
by the sea of emotions, ever jagged and raw.

Its roots are etched into my bone and skin,
for it's part of who I am and what lies within.
I want you to meet me there,
in the lands that lie beyond your despair.

I'll be waiting, ever fading
for you to see what I can't bear to know
that it's up to you, there's nothing I can do.
Time will pass, what will it have to show?

They were the knotted extensions of her soul.
They showed how she twisted the truth
right out the lies she had been told.
Since birth people tried to typecast her role.

Marry a man
Have some babies
Grow old

Her family would say someone mucked up the recipe;
sugar, spice and everything nice. She was
dissimilar to the 3. Her sugar was solitude.
Her spice? Tattoos. Everything nice in her
had been stripped and *******. So the only
thing left of that were the bits of metal in her lips,
nose and ears. "Brush your hair 100 times a day, dear",
Her mother had said for years. And she did
until the day she told her parents she was
a different kind of queer. Then,the tears.

Somewhere between her mother's damnations,
her father's belligerence and her usual
rebuttal of indifference, she began to take interest
in her hair. Those long, straight strands were
nothing like her. The red reflected
her parents rejection. In that moment.
There was clarity in the contorted
version of love she had to incur.
She decided the only expectations
to accept were hers. And just like that
the barrier between her and the world cracked.
She decided to dread her hair and dye it black.

As the years went by,  her parents learned
to accept their daughter. And in return
each year  she would send them a photo
showing how her hair had gotten longer.
She also added trinkets to the locks and let
the strawberry color grow back.
Yet she kept the tips black to remind herself
no matter what the world wants her to be
the most important thing in life was her self-esteem.