my lungs are burning up for you
and you just stand there
admiring the fireworks.

Ever wonder what a real man is like? Let me tell you.

A real man cares about what goes on in your head.
All the others just care about getting you to bed.
A real man gives you a special place in his heart.
Them other guys just want you to spread your legs apart.

A true man wants to ease all of your pain.
A "player" wants you for his own gain.
A real man isn't scared for you to see his tears.
Them other boys will never tell you their fears.

(Insert rant) A sign that you've found a real man is when you are both able to share your all of your worries, anxieties, and personal cares with each other; and can do so in faith that he's not only listening, but caring.

A real man is there through thick and thin.
Other guys just want your skin.
You can look a real man deep into his eyes,
And know that he's not hiding any lies.

**To all the men who read this poem, look at yourself and see if you fit this description. Do you think that your lady would say you follow these guidelines? If you're single, are you a man that ladies find trustworthy? I hope you are, and if you're not that you change that. We men need to represent.

I wanted to dive
into this roaring river of crystal
but my own reflection
prevented me
Instead of
depth
I
got surface resistance
bruises, cuts for good measure,
until I called upon distance
to wrap me in its
ribbons of healing
and stop this
nonstop rush overflow
of feeling

I learned that
the only way through
was to calmly,
humbly
let it soften
as a freeze thaws
as time must heal
to wade through the rocks
stones under my heels
to let coolness fill me
to let the ice melt
to have it soothe
the burns the scratches
the welts
In order to
reach those depths
one must penetrate
see beyond glassy
armor
feel the actual beats
as the pulse gets warmer
and this heart beats strong,
red and true
flesh and pure blood
fiery and blue
I know that one day
this pain will pass
in this heart
made of crystal,
this heart
made of glass

When a man declares himself the winner his associations are over ,
for love is nothing but a brief truce among rivals with friendships based solely on "common ground ."

With each breath drawn, the distance which parts our bodies will evaporate, like dew after dawn.

And with each exhale of humid breath, the time taken slipping out of fabrics slows to a streamlined unveiling; that could entwine me until death.

She is beautiful
But
She is ugly
Her physical appearance
Hides an inner one

She would say the right things
When she doesn't mean them
She would say she understands
When she can't

She is beautiful
And her image haunts my dreams
But her actions haunt my thoughts
And have become
My waking nightmare