When I show you my art,
I'm not looking for attention
When I share these poems,
it's not to seek your praise
When I let you see these things,
I don't want you to tell me it looks good
No, I don't care about that
Rather, it honestly makes me a little uncomfortable
Because of the emotion you miss,
the meaning within my 'talent'
And you don't get it
But especially if you do,
the last thing I want is for you to call me "gifted"
Am I 'gifted', to have such thoughts?
So whether you can feel for me or not,
all I'm asking you to so is get a glimpse
of what's inside my head
Don't be distracted by if it's 'good' or not
Please, make the effort to look a little deeper

Why I cannot tell you,
I do not know.
Why I can't bear to speak,
I'm not sure.
Why I can only communicate my soul this way,
I don't understand.
Why this is the only language I'm fluent in,
I have no clue why.
This is why I seek out people who speak like me,
born with a stranger's tongue,
a dialect not many can comprehend.
This is why I can only talk to them,
sending riddles and broken words
even they may not understand.
It's why I don't perceive the language of this world,
but only the coded words found deep in art.

No, you don't have to keep me down from ledges
Or steal from me razor blades and shoe laces
But prop your door open with wooden wedges
For when I enter into these dark places

Each of us has our own trench,
a black pit we must bare
before we can breathe in the morning air.
For those of us who fear the silence,
our trench is tended by depression.
But we must take a stand to enter in
to the pit of fear and silence.
I am not asking you to go to the bottom,
but to help me problem solve my problem.
No one can face down my demons for me,
but I'll need you to face me from the ridge,
as I cross over this silent bridge.
Cloak me with hope and encouragement
as I plummet down to dwell in my trench.
And I will sit here in the dark,
receiving the yellow letters you sent,
until I find what has me torn apart.

I am wise,
because I've been a fool.
I am brave,
because I've been scared.
I am strong,
because I've been weak.

Aiming high,
With big boots
Too big to drag across the poetic chess floor,

Never read the greats
Never loved and lost like the great lovers
Never forged the mind in tempered steel
No resolve,
No other inkling than pride for scorn

Yet it was this morn,
Eyes read with a fresh dawn
The braking newness of creation
Art as poetry
And fluked it no more than a precise preponderance
As each word chose itself its order
And a profound truth was embellished
With the love and care of a depth of many aeons
Pared back into a child’s innocent eyes
Reflecting providence, grace and wise
With a goodly turn of genius
That left the mind searching
And words begged of in hopes they would lay more
Yet none were needed

And never did a loving envy grow so warm in its light

Whether we     admit it or not

     we
                             do try
to


                      conceal
       what's             ­ stored in                  our
minds. We

                         wear

          masks                   to
     be on
                                      the safe side
            But


we know
                       to hide             is not

            to be
                               awake