As a child
my hiding places were simple-
a closet, under a bed
easily found, never lost.
Now my hiding places
are far more complicated.
I can hide in my books....
I find safety in my books -
so many books that bring me joy.
But no longer do they bring
me solace.
I hide in my office
at home and work.
with doors shut no one looks in,
content to allow me to hide
behind the click, click - click of keyboard strokes.
I hide behind my mask,
carefully made up,
painted on smile,
no one peeks behind
- I can hide my life away....
And often I find myself lost.

it never hurt
to invite me over for
beers
watch me chug them down
then ******* twice
while you repeat
as i dress myself
that i'm more than welcomed to
stay the night

it never hurt
watching me walk
under the canopy
of trees
in the park
the sunlight
drizzling through
highlighting my long
hair
my bare arms
as i walk along
with another man
cups of coffee in our
hands
you, on the ground
i move past you
and leave you
ignored

it didn't hurt
sitting
across the street from me
as i laugh with some friends
in that pink skirt
which drove you crazy
six months prior
it slides up higher
my dark legs shimmer
in the summer's light

no, i can never hurt you

you're impervious
aren't you,
tough man?

nothing compares to the pain
she caused
when she left, and now
you think no one can touch you
and egg me on
asking me to do
worse

but i won't
not anymore

in fact, i'm deeply sorry
and only wish you
the best
and to let you
know
it always hurt me
to behave like this

The endless waking
In my sleep
Because of the
Nightmares
That are in repeat.
Each one,
Is a reflection of my daily life.
And with each one I die.
I die not because of the evil
That is rampant within the society.
I die because
My darkness,
My despair,
My sadness,
Consumes the air which I breath.
Leaving me helpless
And worthless,
Like a piece of trash
Drifting on the ground.

they always told me,
your family will be all you have left,
when your trust is in theft,
when you've fallen and waiting for the best
when your fading in the darkness
and everyone is up in the falseness
but I've come to a rare conclusion
in the end, we live alone,
and we'll die alone,
everything else is merely an illusion
lost in confusion
false fairy tales made up in your mind,
your pulse is racing, time is wasting
were being tested in a world that's infested
the contestants are waiting in line,
so divine, this life of mine
so prepare for the end of time.

Will you love me when I have snot dripping from my nose and when I'm sneezing my head off?
Will you still love me when my bones creak with old age and my skin withers away to nothing but wrinkles?
Would you still love me if I started sceaming like a mad women and never stopped?
Will you still love me when you see what I am instead of who you think I am?
Will you love me through everything life can throw at us and all the madness underneath?
Will you love me forever and never let go?
Will you?

I am a poet
who cannot spell
I prefer to love words
with my lips, my tongue
the inflection in my voice

its not that I don't like
writing
the action of ink on paper
but sometimes I **** up
and I injure a strong
colorful
word with my pen
and the shame of this
is enough to keep me distraught
if only for a few moments

because I love words
all words
especially the vibrant ones

I love the soft curve
of their voluptuous vowels
and their sharp corners
consonant collarbones

I love the words
who's many meanings
swiss-army swap
them into sentences
where you would not
expect to find them

I love soft words
who hiss past teeth
with a susurrus
and I love long
complicated words
with edges that could
cut. you. right. open.
with vitriolic intent

I could have chosen
any one of dozens of
lovely
words to fill that space
but I chose one
that I could not spell

Maybe it wouldn't be so hard
if I didn't always write in pen
but I am a stubborn man
who finds it easier
to forgive a few misspellings
than to live with the knowledge
that all he has written
will someday smear