Let’s get this straight.
I could write this,
using visual metaphors.
As architects build,
or painters paint.
Instead, my blood boils,
with oil and **** at the thought.  

Poems are a release,
for the empathic.  
I could tell you,
nothing is something.
How there is always,
light in darkness.
But, most importantly,
love is cruel.

I could look to,
Emily or Li-Young.
Study the beautiful words
and the mastery of pen.
I protest and reject this,
I will break my rhythm.
Then I will cry,
self-doubt and blood.

You see the word emotion,
is the world to me.
Absorbing as a typhoon does,
all the good and bad.
I could proclaim,
that this is a gift.
To me it is torture.

Even as I write this,
it fills my glass.
Hot magma rises,
boiling to the top.
It will ******* spill over.
I want it to.
The release will feel empty.
Vacant.

There is nothing more,
I could say or jot.
Scribble my protest,
to the heavens.
Why do I feel?
How do I feel?
Why do I feel this much?

Push.
Pull.
******.
Bend.
Hit.
Slap.
Tweak.
Touch.
Turn.
Feel.
Slide.
Press.
Stroke.
Hold.
Twist.

It's ok…ah.
You know just what,
I like.

You should know,
that I no longer follow my compass.
Where the wind pushes,
I lead with squinted eyes.
The horizon is far,
cradled with opportunity.

I’ve taken the step for once,
without you and your map.
I’ve held my hand out,
gave you coordinates.
Yet, you hesitate.

You should know,
I’ve tried.
We no longer scramble,
the sharp edges of “what if?”.
Instead, the question is,
“what now?”

How did it come to this?
I thought with the sun.
Tying the string,
on brush and broken branches.
Will you follow?
The hints, arrows, and signs.

Our maps are different,
one south and one north.
Still, I tried,
circling landmarks left and right.
You will not go north,
but south.
We depart in full gate,
away from our point.
Alone.

You should know,
its time to say goodbye.

I love you.

Hope, a field,
not yet grown.
Vast, open and bright.
You shine taller,
a giant.
Clairvoyance jumps,
across your mind's eye.
Move swiftly,
tread the path.
Toward the bright,
burst of gold.

Alas, the gold is,
out of reach.
Your steps did not find their rest.
Crouched in half-light,
the darkness creeps.
The weeds take notice,
they grow steadily.
You are no longer giant.

A field now,
lost of expectation.
Overgrown with disappointment.

I am opaque.
Just as a chameleon,
I blend.
But, long for color,
that connects us.
That too is opaque,
gray even.
As clouds,
heavy with rain.
Or fog,
as I reach blindly.

You don’t see me.

I am opaque.
Unworldly in sight,
but warm with blood.
Feverishly pumping,
want and need.
To touch,
that touches nothing.

You don’t feel me.

I am opaque.
Follow, I do the waltz,
seamlessly to impress.
Supporting each step,
as your wings are spread.
Catching the wind to fly,
I fall, knowing my place.

You don’t need me.

I am opaque.
Embrace,
is how I dream.
In reality, separated,
by brick and stone.
Each break mended,
carefully from the other side.
I am tired and sore,
but I pick away.

You don’t want me.

I am opaque.
With a low head, I choose,

to stay this way.
Defeated, the fog rolls in,
thick and vengeful.
I will do what I do best,
blend.

I am opaque.

Dark and black,
coffee spilled.
Crimson spoiled,
white paper walls.
Empty stares,
full of wonder and fear.
Few connections,
what will be next.
People in the hallway,
one near the door.
A pearl high in the sky,
illuminates tears.
A door slams,
silence speaks.
Innocent screams,
in dramatic collapse.
Man tightens grip,
war has begun.
Stillness in the room,
a man at peace.

Droves of the dead,
drive through.
Women and men,
dogs doing tricks.
Shiny cars,
and slum deadbeats.
They are like rats,
finding the cheese.
Or maybe god?
Rich women,
poor men.
A nice guy,
in a car soulless.
Screens of pixels,
a father yells.
A mother cries,
her daughter falls in love.
Sunrises,
and then falls.
The dead rise,
soulless and unforgiven.
Trying to find their way.