"Her Name Is ******"
The first time I met Her, I knew right away, She'd be in my life forever. The first time I met Her, She introduced Herself and I couldn't breathe. The first time I met Her...never had I slept so deeply in my life.
The second time I was with Her, it was a dream of bliss and happiness come true. The second time I was with Her, my eyes lit up with excitement and my heart simultaneously sped up and slowed down. The second time I met Her, I knew I would love Her forever.
By the time our relationship became something I craved and lusted for, I realized that I hated Her. I didn't want Her in my life but I couldn't tell Her because I needed Her. And I would do whatever I could for Her. I would steal from anyone I could for Her. I could lie to anyone I knew or loved for Her. I refused to be without Her and nobody would stop me from being with Her.
By the time a year and a half had passed by, and Her and i had now had too many dates for me to count, i awoke one day to stop and look down to where i held her in my arms, held Her in my hands. I stopped and realized i had forgotten Her name. It was something that had been happening lately, my memory just wasn't as sharp as it was before i met her. I looked down at Her and said, "um i seem to have forgotten your name, could you please tell me it". She looked at me and said to me with a twisted, evil smile and a voice like someone who had been smoking their whole life. She said "why Sean, how could you forget my name? Baby my name...is ******. And you love me very much don't you?" I looked down at her, the square piece of foil in my left hand and the pen with which i had de-constructed and now used to catch Her breath in my right, was the woman of my dreams. The black, oily, rolling demon to whom i spoke to, was the one who i had given my soul to.
But she was right, i did love Her and would do anything for Her. I loved her more than the job i lost for Her. I loved Her more than, realizing and knowing that i hadn't showered in days and didn't care. I loved her more than my guitars i used to speak what my soul sings, which i pawned, with no hope of regaining, for Her. I loved Her more...than the woman with whom i was in a 3-year relationship with and who i loved very much with everything i was. But, because of ******, i was nothing, but what She wanted me to be. I did all of these things just so i didn't have to feel the pain in my bones when i didn't have Her. I did all of these thigns, so i didn't have to feel the aches in my muscles when i couldn't get Her. I did all of these things, so day in and day out i wouldn't have to deal with my reality that was crumbling around me. I did these things to numb the pain of catching my girlfriend cheating on me with my best friend. Numb me from the hurt of her kicking me out to move him in and marry him. I did this to hide from the reality of moving back in with my parents and feeling like i was a child again. I needed her in my life to eventually **** all my feelings when, my parents kicked me out of their house because I wouldn’t do what they wanted and later kicked me out of their home and didn't care where i went or what happened to me.
My reality, had become my parents telling me, as i was walking away, tears in my eyes, curses in my mouth, and a ******* machete jammed through my heart, them telling me that i was nothing but a lowlife piece of trash and i deserved to be out on the streets, living behind dumpsters, and that i was a thief and now, since I had come back in to their house with her, it felt tainted and evil. My reality was, my parents telling me that the next time they saw me, would be at my funeral.
My reality was so consumed by darkness, and so consumed by pain, and just so consumed by the reality that i couldn't actually FEEL anymore and all i had in my life was Her. She was always there for me. To take away my pain as i slept behind a grocery store and was jumped and beaten by three other homeless men. She took away the pain of being utterly consumed by the lack of not being able to feel anything except for the overwhelming urge to just die. That after 3 weeks on the streets, and an almost 3 year relationship with my sweetheart, ******, i was so incapable of feeling anything, that i just wanted it all to end. Because everything inside of me that made me human and alive, had already died long ago, and She was just my life support, but i was ready to pull the plug.

When you are nothing but a hollow shell, and doing the same routine of: wake up, smoke H, go beg for change so i don't have to be without my darling, ******, but haven't eaten in two days, so i go to the dumpster where i have a buffet of half eaten sandwiches and old rotten fruits, just so i don't have to FEEL the pain of not having at least Her in my life. I had gotten to the point where i asked my self 'what's the point of living anymore? Why go on?"

And, my friend, it is these things. Life is worth living because after being clean i have a new found sense of purpose and self-value and self-love. Life is worth living, simply, for the sun setting behind the mountains and, for a few minutes the mountains are just a silhouette against the rainbow of colors that is the sky, and it looks like the most beautiful painting that nobody ever did, and i weep. Life is worth living, to sit in a park while you're going through the worst part of your withdrawl from Her and all you want to do is get high or end your life because, that would be so much easier than having to put up with this suffering. When suddenly, you notice the wind move across the grass and bushes, up into the trees and then hear a choir of birds singing, and for a moment, just a moment, you forget about your pain, you forget about your suffering, and focus on something amazing and beautiful and. Life is worth living, for all of the people who suddenly, came into your life and help you and support you, even though they didn't know you before, but don't care because, they see the potential in you and remind you to see it within yourself. Life is worth living....because you're a beautiful human being. And yes, you've made mistakes in the past, but I’m here to tell you, when-ever you feel like you're all alone. When you're sleeping on the streets, or roaming them to try and figure out a way to get a hold of that ***** ******, when you feel like you have zero support. Know this...Know that you at least have me in some way. Know that i support you as a human being, and that i would help and will help you if i can because I’ve been there, roaming the streets, eating out of dumpsters, wishing I would just die, I’ve been there. Know that, even though i don't know you, or that I may have never met you. I love you and have hope for you.
Because, you're more than ******, and you’re more than any kind of drug/ vice. You're a living, breathing, human being with feelings and hopes, desires, fears and dreams. YOU are a human being and you deserve to be treated like one.

I.
I have fallen in love with
the mid-June evening skies, and
It's volatile shades of grey
Like a temperamental canvas of inky blacks
And blotted blues, lines of translucent paint drizzle down
From the canopy of clouds, marred and bruised.

II.
Lovers separated by atmospheres and seasons,
A torrent of raindrops ravishes
It's earthen companion,
caressing the jagged scars across it's parched skin.
I have fallen in love with
The heady scent that permeates the humid air;
The love-child of storm and soil
Infused by the sweet, rich aromas
Of a 6pm cup of chai.

III.
I have fallen in love with
The rivulets of rainwater that
Trail silver maps across the ridges and contours of bottle green fronds;
And the dewy droplets that adorn the Gulmohars and Cassias that are strewn beside my bare feet;
Like a bejewelled carpet of scarlet and gold.

IV.
We are words
Ricocheting off one another,
Relief, catharsis and a safe space after a long day.
We are the comfortable silences, the content sighs,
And the barefaced truth
Between mother and daughter.
I have fallen in love with
The tapestry of words that we weave.

V.

I have fallen in love with
Coming home.

"So.."

I look up from my book, and sigh.

Here it comes.

"What are you?"

"O positive."
I sigh out,
And look back down at my book,
Begrudgingly.

That could have been a comment on my clothes--
Mostly black. No real intention for anything, but it always gives off the wrong impression.

It could have been my complexion,
My features.
My parents have always told me
I don't look quite entirely white
Even though I am.
My eyes and hair are too dark,
My skin too olive.

Most people mistake me for having
Some type of Asian in me.
I don't,
But that's everyone's first conclusion.
The next is
"What type of white?"
If I answer their question honestly.
"The pasty kind."
I get irritated and grit my teeth.
They ask, "Are you some type of middle eastern?"

"No," I roll my eyes. "Irish and Sicilian."

A Princess Bride joke
Or a joke about the potato famine.

"Yeah, haha, whatever."
Forced laughter,
Fake cutesy smile.

"So,"

They always start in.

I've learned to grin and bear it.

Thank God I know my blood type.

I stare at the comment
On someone else's post
On another website.

I stare,
And I can barely feel my eyes brimming
With tears.

How quick you are
To devalue
Something so horrific.

And I'm completely aware
That there are some women,
And some men,
Who use the phrase
"****** assault,"
As some kind of scapegoat
To get off free from some type of experience
That they decide they regret
That they decide months after the fact
That they didn't want
I am aware
That this happens.

I am also aware
That there is a war on people,
And it is being led
By other people.

It is a war on something meant to be held close,
And dear,
And sacred.
A war on a way you're supposed to show another person,
Who is also of age,
That you care for them,
And only if they're also consenting.

*** is supposed to be warm and beautiful
And good.
Right?

It's not supposed to be violent,
And ******,
And scary,
And filled with danger.
It's not supposed to make you want to burn off your skin
When someone else so much as caresses your hand.

It isn't supposed to make you shut down
And feel sick.

I have nightmares almost every night
Of something that started when I was no more than sixteen.
I still wake up
Feeling like I can't breathe,
And I can still hear the rain and the thunder
Washing away my screams.

You can ignore this war all you want,
But did you know that one in every six women are sexually assaulted in one way or another?
Did you know that one in every thirty three men is survivor of ****** assault?
And one in every ten **** victims is male?

Every two minutes an American is sexually assaulted.
Did you know that?
12-34 year olds are most likely to be victims than anyone else.

I used to think all perpetrators of the crime
Should be strung up and fed to angry vultures,
But these days the PTSD has got me so bad
That I can't even come up with a valid argument
As to why.

Fire is something that most people with common sense tend to fear.
It only destroys, says all the rationality.
It's said that fire only leaves embers and ashes
In place of things that were once colorful and filled with life.

But I will throw caution to the wind,
Along with the thick, black smoke from my burning soul.
For the fire in your eyes
Warms the ice in my heart,
To the point that I melt into something
Pliable and warm.

The frost-filled territorial rage that devours me whole,
Is replaced by the warmth of combining two souls.

And if it is foolish
To fall for the fire in someone's eyes,
Then paint me a fool,
Then paint me burned,
For the fire in your eyes
Warms my soul
For eternity.