I have envy
for the flower.
It blooms quietly,
blind to the world.

If only I could
emulate the flower.

There is something terrible welling from within me,
Sudden anxiety and hate!
What a concoction!
It drives me up the wall!
I am compelled to act,
And yet to act on what?
I wish to retaliate
But it is as if I'm grasping for the wind!
An invisible enemy!
No matter,
If this is punishment, I accept it wholeheartedly.

I only wish to live honestly,
No secrets! No lies!
If it is as though I am nothing
then so be it!
I am nothing!
If failure is the price for honesty,
Then I will covet failure above all else!
I do not want for a sense of happiness,
I want finality!
If you are done with me,
Then that is that!
I will be no more!
As the morning mist is to daybreak!

How can a man wake each day
And find his image in the mirror constantly disagreeable?
Surely, there is a limit,
Something must move him to action.
Even if I am regarded in disgust,
at least I can come to terms with that,
but I'd rather know than to struggle with self doubt.
I am willing to accept myself for who I am,
However there is no mirror to tell me what exactly is my worth.

You may ponder, "but oh, what does he mean?"
I am embroiled in inner conflict!
I wish only for release,
Let me be worth something or nothing,
In the long run it does not matter,
Just let me accept myself for who I am.

"One fire drives out one fire; one nail, one nail;
Rights by rights falter, strengths by strengths do fail."

My mind is made up.
For the first time in my life,
I will be aggressive.
I do not care about failure,
I am resolved to deal with it,
I just hope
it will be a private defeat.
Could I bear the humiliation
of both being
refuted
and known?

I am rarely satisfied
with the words that I choose
to express myself with.
In the end,
I settle for an approximation
of what I had wanted to say.
How often do I find myself
falling short
of a truly beautiful sentiment?

To say less
is more telling
of how I feel.
Oh, how life seems
so loosely constructed.
We never express ourselves honestly.
One must infer meaning
from shadows;
we understate ourselves
or even lie,
in hopes that in this
the truth can be understood.

Having been given much to contemplate,
I struggle to dissociate myself from desire.
The interactions I treasure
stem from a perpetual longing for more.
Such thoughts are dangerous
for we are as pockets of air
floating to the water's surface.
We are only together briefly
before dispersed by fate.

What then will become of me
when I long for that which
has already passed?

Although reciprocation would be ideal
it does not have to be all or nothing.
If I can be
as a single flower is to the meadow
then I am content.