I feel the cold energies of doubting eyes upon me ,there.
A place where one conforms to be accepted and to be accepted means
constant actions of the "Norm."
Logic is that there is no "Normal."
We define such from how we experienced life and how our parents
taught us what was "Husband and Wife."
They lead to be examples. And a great job they did.
However, clever as they are, there are closets for which their
"Skeletons" must have been placed.
Silence ,  from them,  a "forgotten  act from the morbid....."
Ways to ward Off People's "Cold Eyes..."
Watching them after they broke. what was to be,forever,  the "norm."
Me, I'm open. "True to thy own self."  
My own definitions.
Respectful of others space in which they define "Prudent."
Definitions of what "slot" you fill; "Celebrity" or "fan?"
"Worth-While"  or "Unneeded"  
"Peer,"Stranger," or "President."
These are all labels to define our places. On Stages in the Play of life.
Do we act in this "scene?" or do we "Wait" until our "Proper Casting" to read a certain line and act out another "script?"
Since I haven't the time to weigh "positions"  on  "what"  I am as an "equal?"
Or, "Strange Peer....?"
My kind heart and supportive Notions- I love to "earn" all ears to "Hear."
My calling to the masses - "I've earned a place in this script to act upon and to be heard..."
As a proven equal in this "crowd..."
Even as I sneak in from being a person from an "audience...".
Now on stage with the "Proven People" to "act with"
And who "earned a position"
to be  "heard"  from, with a heart that's earned it's right to be proud,
hearing "cheers" from the right "Show..."
Did I hide my "Skeletons?"
Avoiding to hide in cast-off "Silence?"
Everyone does. To help maintain an "order" from the "chaos" in society.
So, I obey the way to my "Label" in my "Place" in this "Crowd.."
I walk to and join my rightful life's "College" and "Sorority."
Until next time, when the "cast" is "called" to read the right "script"
My "position," in life is made  "clear," and my "way" is still quite cheerful and lit.

I once told you
that you are the only one who has ever inspired poetry in me.
Which isn't quite true,
but true enough.
You are the only one who inspires poetry out of love
Not pain.
You didn't shatter me like the one before,
who inspired so much darkness it filled my pages for years.
Instead, your freckles were the stars the guided me into hope.
Your eyes became emeralds that illuminated my poems with color.
You became the one.
The one who makes my voice stronger, my heart lighter, my me me-er
I am silly and light and infinite in your arms.
Even when my poetry is wrought with word *****,
the words are lyrical to my eyes and ears,
and if the poetry I write isn't meant to be for me,
then who is it meant for?

If I am kindling,
you must be the spark...
Much alive in the darkest dark,
lifting all shadows with
finesse and flair.

     If I am flame,
     you must be the air and wind...
     Unfettered and free...
     Cradling my infancy.
     Only to nurture and inspire,
     to groom flame to fire.

If I am faltering...
And almost extinguished,
you must be the hand...
Bearing the confidence and belief...
Awaiting the moment most opportune,
to align yourself in rhythm and tune.
So we could...
Continue to
burst forth into light.
So we could...
Resume our journey forth with might.

     Let us be our own deterrent
     from the darkness
     that comes with morrow's set.
     Hand in hand, we must...
     Because together...
          And only together,

   we're...

                        incandescent.

marjorie farmer originally shared to poets of g exlib (Discussion):

I would like to share the most memorable poem I ever heard with all here at poets of g exlib:

Trees       by:  Joyce Kilmer

I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose ***** snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

She told me, “Sometimes the light at the end of the tunnel is the stars above you on your darkest nights. They remind you that you are so minuscule and the battle you’re fighting is just a grain of sand in this universe. Sometimes, the light is within you. It’s in the way that you decide to dust yourself off and pick yourself back up again after falling and being kicked. It’s in the way you decide to rise about your circumstances. Sometimes, the light at the end of the tunnel is all in the mindset. Love, please, do yourself a favor. And count your stars. Not your scars.”