Often, we men take for granted,
That you've simply performed an edict of biologic cyclical reproduction.
And not wonder of the incredible largesse that has befallen us.
I am so profoundly transformed by the beauty of your love and your unselfishness.

Though we men oft complain of the seemingly irrelative by-products of this process we go through,
None can compare to the bloating, frequent urination, nausea, emotional turmoil,
Weight gain, wacky food choices, back pain, impatience, depression, negative self-image,
Waddle walk, belly steering wheel dilemma, inability to tie your shoes, hunger,
Relationship insecurity, cornucopiate vomitus, skinny lady envy, clothes no longer fit-itis,
Swelling ankles, chocolate cravings, diarrhea, headaches, pelvic pain, stretch marks, and what should be unlawful super odorous flatulence.

What you've done for us in the space and time of nine months
Is nothing short of the joyous miracle God has bestowed upon us.
I am awestruck that the place I pleasure in most for its tightness and firmness,
Was stretched beyond the limits of what I fear I will never be able to compete with.

I love you as no other man has loved any other woman,
My heart's eyes swell with tears, as it can not express or contain this overwhelming feeling.
For the love I see in their eyes, the endearment I feel when they utter my name(Dad!)
The gift of our three children, aside from the love of my God, and the fascinating adventure of our wedding and marriage, will never be superseded by any other joy; and for which I am forever truly and entirely grateful...!!!

-----ChawzzyScript

in a room full of peacocks
i am now an ostrich
and i don't know if any of you know how it feels to be a splash of grey in a room full of brilliant blues and greens
it's like being a lonely, pitiful cloud against a blue sky with leafy trim
maybe i have my head in the sand because i don't want to be shallow
but you'd be right if you guessed it's because i actually don't want to be seen when my face looks like this
which is such a cowardly thing to do
(i really shouldn't care)
i read Journey to the Center of the Earth in middle school,
and the only thing i remember is that it was the volcanoes that erupted (like the hives that erupted across my face this past week) that led them to find it-
the heart of life and natural beauty; more breathtaking than the flawless plumage of the peacocks

I am a genuine person.

At least, I'd like to think I am.

I don't pretend to be someone I'm not.

At least, I try not to.

What I show people is real, my true self.

Well, parts of it.

For every part of me I show, there's another side I don't.

There's a part of me that's strong, that can stare down demons from the depths of hell and win

And there's a part of me that is weak and cries myself to sleep at night-because a boy didn't smile back at me.

There's a part of me that thinks I'm beautiful, most days

But some days, I look in the mirror, and I don't feel beautiful at all

There's a part of me that knows I'm loved

But sometimes, I don't believe I deserve it

And I'm afraid

Terrified

That when people see the side I don't show, they'll walk away

But every time I let that side of me show, I let the veil slip so they can see my whole face, not just what I want them to see, and they catch a glimpse of the entire real me

People don't walk. They don't run. They stay.

At least, the people who really love me stay.

And maybe, one day, I'll sit down, take off my veil so they can see, not just glimpse, but really see, all of me.

Maybe one day.

I can count on my left hand
how many boys have had a taste of my lips
I can count on them like I can my pinky in a bar fight
Clipped nails like flightless birds
Nothing to scratch my initials into their flesh
Because most nights
I didn’t belong there

I can count on my right hand
The number of boys that I’ve slept with
Some naked and others fully clothed with the lights on
I used to be afraid of the dark
Until I had too many secrets to hide in the shadows
Sometimes I’d beg them not to look at me
Because my scars were always illuminating stories
I didn’t want to tell
Sometimes I’d beg them to leave me
Because my stories were too long
To begin to tell
Sometimes
I didn’t want to be there
At all

I can count with my eyes closed
The number of times I’ve cried in front of someone
Because of a boy
My eyes have to be closed
Or I won’t let myself remember it
Sometimes I don’t
And I tell myself I have never cried
For such a silly reason
As a boy

I can count on my hips
The number of times I’ve felt like nothing
While lying in a place I didn’t want to be
And counting the sounds a darkened room
Until the sun washed my eyes open
And told me it was better to forget
So I forgot
But every time I lie awake
I remember you like taste of your palm
Against my mouth
And I really
Really
don’t want to

I can count the seconds
Before I fall asleep
Strategically within the first few thousands
So as not to keep listening to the sounds my room makes
Incase our windows creak at the same time of night
I might burst out of the blankets
And run until the sidewalk catches up to me
Or I might lie there
And pretend not to hear it

I can count with my heartbeats
The number of times
I pretended not to hear myself

I can count on my eyelashes
The seconds I spent with my eyes closed

I can count on my body
The number of panic attacks I’ve had

I can count on
Myself
To never speak to you again

It was the beginning of the summer
And life was darker than the underside of frightened eyelids
I told you I needed someone to depend on
You told me to count on you

and I’m sorry that I ever did.

Love.

It's such an easy word to scoff at.
We are born with our parents
nursing us on it.
With promises of never letting
that well run dry.
We live the rest of our lives
dedicated to finding that love in another person.
To discover that true, pure chemistry with someone.

As much as I hate to admit it
I want all of this and more.
I'm only human.
I just can't break out of this cage.
A cage built on a foundation of
ignorance, Jesus, loneliness, and hate.

That must be what a tiger feels like.
Living everyday enclosed by thick glass walls
watching everyone else live the life you want.
To be able to walk outside
with my fingers interlocked with the person I care about most
Without being stared at
Without being told it's unhealthy
Without having bibles thrown at us.

I'd ask my parents to make me free
But they'd just swallow the key
So I'd stay in there forever.
Because letting me breathe the outside air
would be conceding to what their upbringings told them.
It would be admitting that their baby boy is abnormal.

Somehow they didn't get me the memo
that I can't share my love the same way the normal people can.
That I'll never be able to feel the soft skin of my own child
or be able to hang a piece of paper on my wall
announcing my promise to keep my love forever.

You know, it's not like
I ever wanted to be in here.
I didn't choose to be trapped.
I didn't choose to have my life criticized and nitpicked.
I didn't choose to feel like a pariah.
If there was any choice involved
It certainly wouldn't be this.

I spend my life screaming
and pounding the glass
hoping people hear me but
really wanting to hit hard enough
to shatter some of the glass
and let the shards meet my skin
so I can feel something other than
guilt
shame
and embarrassment.

For now, I just stand hear
Wishing, hoping, needing
Someone to see me.
Someone to hear me.
Someone to find a key
And free me.

My sweet daughter.
Strong, but not strong enough
To withstand his
Bullying and his beatings.

     That Monster

Made her feel worthless
And useless and weak
As he did  his best to use
And abuse her.

     That Monster

Full of drink and drugs
Cracked her ribs, blackened her eye,
Locked her in a closet,
And insidiously isolated her.

     That Monster

Did  not win in the end.
One special day,
Empowered by extraordinary courage,
She called the police and had him arrested.

     That Monster

Can't beat her any more.
The healing of her body is done,
But the healing of her soul
Will take many years.

Stay strong, my sweet girl.

A burning cigarette.
Maybe that's all we are.
We are all cigarettes,
burning and burning
in these places that we recognize as home.
Wasting away,
Waiting for something,
anything,
to take us away from this hell
that we disguise as happiness.
When I walk around this place
I see through these facades that we all put up
every one of us has a secret,
our goal is to hide it.
Hide the pain
or the happiness,
refusing to look weak.
We're all walking around this earth
trying to figure out the purpose,
the reason.
For existing?
For continuing in this unhappiness?
I don't know
Maybe
I don't pretend to know everything
I have days where I'm happy
I have days where I'm sad
We all do,
I contemplate this life more than I should
I question this all knowing power that is supposed to exist
Not denying "his" existence but wondering
if he does,
if he's saddened by what he sees.
Not in society,
but in me.
With the paths I've chosen,
I really hope not.
Because as much as I'd like to say I do,
I don't regret a thing.
With that said,
I guess I'll just sit back,
and light my cigarette,
and watch it all pass.
Hoping like everyone else
that the day that the burn reaches the filter,
there's at least one more in the box.