I'm not a choice to be made,
I'm not a tissue to be used,
I'm not a joke to be cracked,
I'm not a toy to be played,
I'm not a ploy to be placed.

Then, you'd wonder who I am.

I am a poem you'd never forget,
I am a lesson you'd keep in mind,
I am a provision you'd miss in life,
I am that person you'd pull back,
I am that person perfect for you.

But...

I am not that ever-forgiving God.

I am that unlucky person who'd get lucky soon.

I won't come again.

Twas under the brightest silver moon,
That I witnessed true perfection bloom--
Her hair like silken petals; her figure strong and proud--
And all this beauty blossomed five full months from June.

Just as frail as flowers, though, her splendor was painfully brief,
And, though many said I must move on, I could not contain my grief.
I could not bring myself to so easily sway!
I just did not have it in me to turn over a new leaf.

My mind's been a flutter with floating blossoms of her face.
A cloud of radiant spores I'm forever forced to chase.
This wasn't just a fish occupying a vast sea;
There were no other flowers that could occupy my shattered heart-vase.

And now her name's like perfume foreign to all other noses,
I've found a simple remedy that alleviates my pain.
But, as the garden of my heart festers and decomposes,
I feel a little better every time I burn the roses.

Let's break all the tension with the pretense of my presence.
Yes, I'm insensitive--but there's no other incentive others can give--
And while I'm not sure I could prevent it, I swear to no god I'm inventive!

Yes,
My hatred is incessant--ever present--and it's what I hold most sacred.
I'm a naughty narcissist with a nasty list of wasted kisses,
And I won't say that I'll miss 'em, 'cuz I'm the type who never misses.

I'm a hopeless romantic with a new sense of Tantric hope,
It's the antics of a frantic mind, but I'm too calm to cope.
They say I'm a raving, violent--rarely silent--tyrant with a craving
for the obscene,
Though, while I'm mean, I'm rarely seen within a mob or in a scene.

I'll admit I've got a streak, but--if you'd stop to take a peek--
You'd see a Buddhist, not a nudist, who's less a demon than a geek.
I'm oblique and I'm obtuse (do these math puns work for you?) yet I'm rarely never right;
Get my angle? Catch my drift? I might thrash, but, man, I'm thrift!
Hold on shift: I'M SCREAMING NOW!!
Don't know why; don't have a cow!
Remember that? That 90's rap? Look at me then; that piece of crap!
Shot down! Torn up! Shut in! Turned out!
Lips are sealed; inside I'd shout,
'Bout just how bad I wanted out!
Enraged and crazed; cravin' razors; a victim hiding from all saviors!
Turned to the pen to brace for the knife,
Started writin' and saved my life.
It's funny to say my life got better the day I started a suicide letter...

But letters turned to words and those words became whole worlds,
And before my very eyes a whole legacy unfurled!
I was GOD--not just a slob--but a shaper of all things,
And the schemes that I'd been dreaming shifted into scribing,
And I never stopped since then; it's why I'm still alive!

So my insanity became vanity as calamity turned to amity.
Sheer pessimism became untamed narcissism,
But if the mind's a prison then consider me jail broken.
Outspoken, re-awoken; take a moment to let that soak in.
That a boy doubtful of tomorrow could ditch the sorrow,
And become an immortal--though immoral, not totally amoral.

So yea, I've got my faults; I'm a sensory assault,
And while I don't mean to offend I'm just a product of the ends.
Played with fire; I got burned.
Dared to aspire; I was turned.
So I inquire to you sires as I march out of the fires:
You've seen my darkness and know my story--beginning, middle, end--
My name is Nathan Squiers, do you wanna be my friend?