Gun shot wound above the button.
Small scar resting by your left eye.
Freckle on the thumb,
Gripping your scotch.

Left hand tapping the table.
Lightly playing the tune of an old rock band.
Dark circles lay under your eyes.
Stubble painted on your chin.

You don't have to say a word.
Your body says a lot.

And that's just hello.

Life is a race track.
If the sky falls down,
if the car loses a tire,
if the transmission bursts:

Keep driving the **** car.
You pick up the pieces and you keep going.

You are the only driver you've got.
I don't care if the car crosses the line spitting and groaning,
and falling apart.

I would rather get out and push that thing in high heels to the finish line.
Then to give up.

Keep driving the **** car.

She said she liked my confidence.
What she didn't know, was it was liquid courage.
That this strong façade was cracking.

Words fall unthinkingly from my lips,
a charm for wit and a fault for aggression.
Just smile.

From someone shy to someone bold.
From someone hurt to someone who could care less.
And that's what she liked about me.

The number of faces I've spoken to,
with reckless abandon.
In hopes of sparking an interest, only to stand and leave.

These shaky hands in surgery.
Should never poke at someone's heart.

But confident.
Sure.
And thank you.

He stood on the corner waiting,
for the light to flash its cue.
He wore a Winnie the Pooh sweatshirt,
his hands worn and tired with age.
A twitch formed in his left hand.
A laugh formed on his lips.
And when the light changed he stayed and waited.
Until out of nowhere a small child raced across the street.
"Grandpa!"
His sweatshirt matched.
And my heart was happy.

I was sitting in my windowsill,
feet dangling towards the ground,
when a small bird perched itself on my leg.
I didn't dare move in fear of frightening him.
He sang out and fluttered in the morning light,
chirping and cooing with delight.
And I couldn't help but smile.
Like a child, I sang back to him.
I wondered if any strangers could hear us.
We were a 6 AM alarm.

I've been wrestling a beast.
Invisible at least,
or his fangs and eyes might
frighten me.

I've been dancing in the dark.
Dodging every blow,
and I fear if there'd been light,
my heart would never
slow.

And so I light a match.
And kindle what little light,
I have.
That this could finally be the spark,
that sets my life aglow.

Do you remember the days,
Where the thought of love,
Could make you ill?

How many more, are old souls?
The kind who dream more than they live.
The ones with nothing left to give,
Who've watched their past wash by,
Like sinking tides and rising skies.

But who are happy at the thought,
Who find comfort in the feeling,
Who yearn for those days again,
And get lost in the meaning.

The beauty in the flaws,
The words between the lines.
How staring into the distance can bring it all back.
How the rising sun did fade to black.

Because I remember.