He wanted it and he wouldn't leave without it
I wouldn't give it and tried to push him away
He felt so good in my bed, against me, teasing me
I was given an opportunity and I really wanted it

My morals are as high as the wall around my soul
I have always reacted childish and now in University I chose differently
I'm proud of myself for leaving, for telling him no
Childish teenage boys who always want one thing will always be mad when they don't get it

And now because I stood up for myself I'm punished
Forced to see him everyday, now he chooses to hang out with my friends
Crossing paths is unavoidable
Shame and embarassment marr my face and wreck my heart

But why am I embarassed? Why am I shamed?
I can't answer that question
Would it have been worse if I just gave in?
Yes, I would feel better but my self respect and the respect that others give to me would be diminshed

I'd feel like a *****, a lousy one night stand
Not the way to give up my first
Instead, I sit here trying to convince myself I was strong
But all I feel is weak

I want people to like me and to think I'm a fun person
Is giving it up to every boy who wants it really necessary to do so?
I just want to be there for everyone, be their friends, be a nice person
So, that's what I will do with everyone including him

Everyone has their issues, as I'm most definitely sure he does
I won't let anything happen ever again between us
But I'll be there because I won't hold it against him
And I most certainly won't hold it against me

Here is a glass of water from my well.
It tastes of rock and root and earth and rain;
It is the best I have, my only spell,
And it is cold, and better than champagne.
Perhaps someone will pass this house one day
To drink, and be restored, and go his way,
Someone in dark confusion as I was
When I drank down cold water in a glass,
Drank a transparent health to keep me sane,
After the bitter mood had gone again.

I challenged him
burly ******* captain
stubbled beard as coarse as sandpaper
standing there in muggy dusk
arms akimbo,
mama san starched uniform stained with swagger and sweat

two silver captain's bars ******* any of my brilliance or bravado
all he had to do was speaketh the words
“need those maps, head out at 2230 hours”
and that was a death sentence
which was commuted to life
if four decades since has been life

there are not words for the black
of moonless jungle
except nothingness and paralytic fear
and through that lightless, lifeless, abyssness
I crawled, crouched and crept along
sometimes as slowly as the minute hand on my watch

the silence, the silence, the silence
became my splintered cross
to carry to my place of crucifixion
at my Calvary Hill behind barbed wire, blue lead barrels and
fearful eyes

silence, silence, silence, black wordlessness
black soundlessness
punctuated by shallow precious breaths
and imagined slant-eyed demons
waiting behind each berm
to turn the timeless night into timelessness
of more black

should I chamber a round?
and follow its solitary sound
into the silent holy night
and shatter my own fragile fright?
would that end this knowing without knowing?
and answer the question,
“is this fear worse than the answer?”
since questions have answers but answers have nothing
the nothing of which I was sure I would become a part
in the silence, the silence, the silence
of the black canopied jungle
in Tay Ninh Province
in 1967

where I was sentenced to death but allowed to live
in silent, black wordlessness
sentenced to live
to wonder, after all these years of shivering fright and flickering light
did the captain become a human?
And was I really allowed to live?

These marks upon my hands from clinging on too tight
Whilst I clutched onto the lamp I held that lonely night
As I saw lines upon your face and knew you as tired
Your senses lost as you walked blindly past lamp fire

You walked slowly, eyes open, but closed
Pale cheeks replacing the ones that were rose
All things done awake, but asleep
My trembling fingers and heavy feet daring to creep

Wood floor creaking with each step you took
Turning as if memory with glazed, unflinching look
Into the kitchen, as in sleep, you took the knife
And with a plunge of a knife and the crash of a lamp, I bade my last goodnight

When you wake up in the morning,

you crack all the bones in your body that you can.

You are not sure if this is a reminder of aliveness

in the way that old houses are revived when steps fall on creaky floorboards.

You write poems about yourself,

convinced that they will save you.

They will.

Cigarette, shower, breathe easy.

Deep and slow, like the coming of winter, like the ticking of a grandfather clock.

Remember that you had one,

and you left it behind.

Remember there are so many other things like this.

When you wake up in the morning,

so often you have to remind yourself

that today is a day worth living,

even if it is storming,

even if the clouds haven’t moved for days

or weeks

or years.

Today is a day worth living because there are so many things you have

yet to do,

like walk outside

or dream yourself a kite.

It is pouring rain now.

This, too, is another reason to stay alive.

Watch the drunken beauty of the overflowing earth

wait for you to join it

a long, long time from now.