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I turned you gay,
That's how I see it.
(I know that you've always been,
But I made you stray towards men.)
You laughed when I told you,
And I laughed too
Because you were laughing
And I love it when you laugh.
You said she thought she turned you gay,
Then we both laughed again.
I said, No, because you were never
Really in love
With her.

We laughed at your luck with girls since us,
We never mentioned my luck with boys.
I never said how my relationships
Haven't lasted,
Mainly because of you.

Oh well, you're with him now,
Isn't that how it always ends?
I hope your happy with him,
And maybe someday I'll be over you.
I should probably just give up,
I'm fairly sure I've lost him,
But look, here he comes again,
Let's give this one more go.
She stares past as her life flies by,
some memories sweet
while others dissatisfy.

She remembers she was 8
and her dad pushing the swing
with muscular ease
as her hair swayed
with the honey-suckle breeze.

She remembers her 15th summer
racing on through
bringing with it raging hormones
and ***** boys.

She remembers bitter tears
shed on mother's caring shoulder
when Robert said that they were over.

She remembers prom and
mistakes she made
and the boy who never again
glanced her way.

She remembers the agony
9 terrible months later brought
for a tiny, screaming baby
and she remembers the love that grew
in spite of the pain.

She sits on that bench and
quietly remembers her child’s firsts:
teeth, words, steps that grew into strides.
and her only regret: only the man
with his godawful pride.

She climbs on the bus
gently grasping the hand
of her bright eyed
and well-loved child.
And this child,
this child,
who is wealthier than most
for the child knows only of
love.
Kinda slapped together, but enjoy...
What I don't seem to understand is...
before you become a man and
everyone cradles you,
holds you by the hand and
fills your thoughts with these dreams and aspirations,
(no exaggerations...just genuine life expectations)
but nothing is impossible,
you are fresh.
Not to death, but from birth.
A brand new mind that has yet to be tarnished.----

Through adolescence,
you start to learn adult lessons.
Cowboys are no longer real...
President's have to wear a tie!
And if I become a stuntman...
then I'll probably die.
I can't be a wrestler on TV if I actually fought?
I need...what!?...on my SAT's to become an astronaut?
Reality, Gets In.
Our Ways, Set In.
Goodbye Dreams,
Goodbye Imagination.--

"Today you are eighteen years old,
you are an adult."

God, do I hate the way they say that.
An elongated "u" as if emphasizing the key component that I am an, "adddduuuult"
Then to agitate my irate sense of frustration they ask my for my declaration:
"Now, just what you want to do for the rest of your life???--
You don't have time to think.
This is it, hurry.
Choose.
Now!
Did you figure it out? No...?
Now you're already behind!
Wasting mine and your own time.--"

Time...the only thing that remains omniscient.
Time...the real gift to represent the present.
Time's up.
School's over.
Time to get a job, a good ole' nine to five.
But, I can't listen to that:
For I know that it's lies.
I know sitting in an cubical in an office drinking water from a cooler pretending to be cooler
will be my own personal demise.

I believe everybody has hopes and dreams.
From the oldest person alive to addicted drug-phenes.
Never write a person off by social means.
Never let the American Dream become the American Scheme.
All of us have our own devine-mind.
Life's a playground, don't *** on the slide.
Re-capture that child-like spirit.
If they tell you: You Can't.--
Don't Hear It.
Jump out of the line!
As the rest watch from behind.
No more: Stress.
No more: Fear.
Disregard all: Turmoil.
"You must be the change you wish to see in the world."

.Peace.
Personals:*
Single Man Interested in Women: Looking for love.
Single Woman Interested in Men: Looking for love.
Single Man Interested in Men: Looking for love.
Single Woman Interested in Women: Looking for love.
Single God Interested in Humans: Looking for them to love and be loved.*
___________________­
1. ig·no·rant  
  /ˈignərənt/
Adjective:
Lacking knowledge or awareness in general; uneducated or unsophisticated.
Lacking knowledge, information, or awareness about something in particular: *"ignorant of the message".*
I could tell you my stories of "love",
How they all ended up to be tales of woe,
But who am I to understand love
When I am so woefully inexperienced?

In my years of people-watching,
An art in which I am skilled,
And my years of movies, tv shows, and books,
My rather imaginative mind has fit together
An image of my definition of love.

Love is that first feeling of butterflies
When you see him for the very first time.
It's how that feeling stays there whenever you see him.
It's the blood rushing to your face when you talk to him,
The rapid beating of your heart.
It's your first kiss,
And all your kisses after,
That send tingles through your nerves
And linger on your lips afterwards.
It's when he meets your parents,
The nervousness and anxiety you feel.
The first fight, and how you make up afterwards.
It's the fights that follow,
But still you stay together.
It's the feeling you get when you're standing next to him at the altar,
How no one else present is important,
And it's only you and him.
It's that moment when you hold your newborn
And he's looking down at you with tears in his eyes.
It's the sickening sensation at your child's high school graduation,
And you know soon it'll be just you and him,
Like it used to be,
But you're not ready for it.
Love is how ever when the passion fades,
Your love still steadily burns.
Love is the end of your life,
And looking back,
Through all the fights and the heartbreaks,
Through everything he may have done,
Or you may have done,
You wouldn't have had it any other way.
Why do my eyes remain dry as my world crumbles to bits?
Because I hate crying,
Because it's easier not to feel,
Because I've built up too many shields.
So, I rarely let that side show,
I hardly show my pain,
At least in that way.
If you knew me well enough you could see my pain clearly visible
In the expression on my face,
Or the irritation that I show,
Or the amount of people I think about killing.

I hate that I don't cry.
I hate that I can think about my grandfather dying of cancer
And never shed a tear.
But I also hate that I can cry
I hate the feeling that I'm choking whenever a sob fills my throat
And tears fill my eyes.

I don't think I can change this.
I've hidden myself away behind too many locked doors
And thrown away all the keys.
My heart of ice may never thaw, at least not completely.
But then again, maybe I can change this.
Maybe it's subconscious and I'm doing it right now.
Perhaps I'm just done with all the bottled up pain
And now I'm finally letting it go.
Whatever the case may be,
I'd rather just not feel.
I'd rather things didn't affect me,
But this is the curse of mankind
And no matter how much I say otherwise,
I am and will always be human.
When I was born I asked the doctor, how he thought he did?
He recalled,
"Exquisite, it was a perfect delivery."
I rebutted,
"Then why am I still attached to the umbilical chord?"
He snipped me away from the tangling sheathe preventing me from exploration.
I leapt off the crinkling hospital bed paper and onto the goose-bump extracting tile floor.
Playfully bobbing my head as I walked into the world whilst giving the blonde doe-eyed nurse a crumpled note arranging what time I would pick her up for
dinner that night.
--Nurses enjoy being taken care of too.

When I was in preschool my teacher asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up.
I told her, "I want to feel the love of a woman who makes me happy everyday and loves me for being me."
She under cut my desired fate, "That's not a something you can work for."
I whispered in her ear, "I know you have never felt love from another person."
She began to cry.
I told her, "That tears are just water for her soul to grow."
She got married later that spring after the rain had stopped,
--Her soul grew enough to show.

When I was seven years old a neighborhood bully stole my bicycle.
I cried for four minutes.
I was angry for about an hour.
Instead of telling him that my dad could beat up his dad
I began to wear my helmet everywhere I went.
I shouted to the other boys in my class,
"I had an invisible superb-deathly speedy-extraordinary-intergalactic- bike."
Two weeks later that same bully gave me my bike back.
As he relentlessly rubbed his knuckles into the top part of my scalp I thought nothing, but that this is the reason why my Grandpa went bald.
Then he muttered through his wheezing breaths of anger,
"My invisible bicycle was much faster than anything your ***** daddy could have bought you."
--Dad's, they love hypothetical fighting.

When I was eleven years old two airplanes hit two buildings in New York City.
I did not understand.
I asked my teacher, "Why would God make evil people?"
Through her tears she explained to me, "Some people are just born evil."
I shouted under my breath, "People are not born evil...
implementing ideas in the sponge of a youth's mind is what is morally corrupt and evil!"

--Corruption is the first cause of terrorism.

When I was fifteen years old I had my first real serious girlfriend.
I did not understand, again.
I exasperated to my father over drinking our first father-son beer,
"How do I know when I love a woman?"
He nostalgically took a drag of his menthol cigarette and as the smoke made it's way through his nose like fog in a canyon he said to me,
"Whenever you look into her eyes and know that there is nothing you wouldn't do for her, that is love."
Before he could reach down and crack another pilsner I told him,
"Dad I look a little lower than her eyes and that is where... everything I would do to her."
--Hormones are a *****.

When I was twenty-one years old my mom told me I couldn't come back home after I graduated college.
I begged her to give me time. I will make it, I promise.
I shouted in the driveway with all my belongings she had neatly placed for me to pack into my car, "How do I know when I am ready to be on my own?"
She didn't have to say anything for there was a brown envelope on top of my neatly folded clothes; that mysterious folding method all mom's know but I
could never seem to figure out,
"Son, you won't know. You won't know until you are poor, hungry, cold and exhausted everyday from trying to make something of your life. The character
you will build will help you later in life when you have a family of your own. I promise. I am not a tyrant, I care too much to see you widdle away here with me
in obscurity and waste all the dreams I know you have. I love you my baby."

--Mom's, even though they don't cut the umbilical chord...they cut the umbilical chord.
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