There is not enough soap in the world
to clean away the impurities that have
disgraced my body.

But I will learn to love this
hollow shell containing my soul.

I will love every inch of it,
every smooth curve and every
rough edge.

And even though I am envious
of the girls with long hair and skinny bodies,
I will love myself.

I will love my shaved head,
my unproportionate torso,
my lack of *******, too.

My brash and brutally honest mouth,
every weird mark or stray hair,
I will love it all.

bloodied knuckles,
clenched fists,
black eyes and bruised cheeks.
The aftermath of a drunken fight,
of a tussle with an ex-lover,
of fights long past.

Knuckled turning white
from a fist held too tight.
He says I have fighting hands,
but a pacifist spirit.
And I laugh because,
it's true actually.

It's almost funny
that I want to fight.
I don't know how to,
and I'd probably lose.
It'll be okay though,
the urge will soon pass.

Some of us have hearts so big,
that we don't know what to do with them.
Other people take advantage of this,
and use those people.
Some people will open their hearts,
and stay up all night for some pitiful soul,
trying to talk them out of something that most don't even consider.

Our hearts get us into the greatest troubles, for we look at them like adventures.
Out on quest,
To make our cold print into the world,
We lost.
And quite frank
Our dreams were lost with us.
Some of us weren't made to be dangled and wished on....

Do not forget what we had,
do not brush it off as something that happened once.
What we had was special,
you know this is true.
But what you did to me,
is unforgivable.

I never believed much in a god,
after my dad's death especially.
But then I found her,
and it was like I saw God in her face.
She took me to church,
on Wednesdays, sometimes Sundays.
And we held hands through the service,
so tight, I thought, the angels would have to tear us apart.
I loved her so much,
and I started to believe again.
Then her pastor started to shout,
words of negativity about our kind of love.
My heart fell,
for I could not believe a loving god would hate us just for that.
I slowly drifted further from believing,
and found something new.
But I still went to church,
and sat through the fire and brimstone services.
Then one Sunday, as I got up to leave,
she chased me into the bathroom.
And what happened there,
led me to never again go to church, as a believer.

I had a foster parent who was
Active duty, military recruiter, Army branch.
I remember him distinctly because of one thing:
His tattoo, which stated a morosely true fact,
"Only the dead have seen the end of war."
I questioned him on it, one day,
To be answered with a gruff response containing,
"You'll learn when you get in the service."
And now that I have left them,
Left his house, and been placed in a group home,
I've only thought about one thing:
Serving my country like my foster father does.
And to do that, albeit in a completely different branch,
I would be truly honored.