Fame is a kind of addiction.
It can be a lethal condition
If taken with no restriction
Real life succumbs to fiction.

Elvis took too much stuff.
Janis fell for too much guff.
Jimi didn’t quit soon enough.
Morrison had to act tough.

It was all about being a star
Instead of being what you are.
Life is not a big expensive car
It’s what you have done so far.

Becoming a famous insufferable,
And ordinarily unapproachable,
Can make behavior intolerable
Rendering you reprehensible.

They turned away with a shrug
Went back to a favorite drug
Left a dead body for others to lug;
Their fame swept under a rug.

The pretty face won’t protect you
No matter how often they inject you.
In time your fans will neglect you
But the coroner won’t reject you.

The star insures that his crew,
Let him do what he wants to do.
Refuse him and you’re through
The star has no use for what’s true.

You’re the furthest thing from any form of knight in shining armour
In actuality I’ve already found mine
But I am captivated by the vigour of your free spiritedness
Somewhat consumed by the brooding of your aura
I am addicted to the way in which its easy
and the way that nothing ever needs to be said
I am captivated by our relationship of metaphors
Stimulated by the subtext of our blunt conversation
Deep ocean blue eyes that suppress everlasting adoration
Mischievous smirks that speak a world of sharp truthfulness
Truthfulness that should never be spoken
I am entranced by the shameless way you talk it anyway
And the shameful way you know it

What makes your eyes shine bright with wonder?
What makes your heart beat like the thunder?
If you could walk down any road
Would you find courage to walk alone?
Will you be honest when I ask
Did you truly love me in the past?
Can you trust me here today
And believe me when I say
That just your perfect flawless presence
Makes me again believe in heaven
There must be forces up above to make such beauty that shines forth love

Baby did you know
you're driving me wild?

Lunatic style.
Think insane asylum.

I adore you.
That is all there is to it.
Sometimes red poppies blossom in my stomach because of it
Like ***** watercolour water it grows increasingly murky
I find it is a beautiful shade of hurt and soul
It contrasts nicely with my porcelain casing
Like a tea *** I am poised to empty my contents
I adore, you.

The manifestation of my heart sits across the table.

I steal occasional glances her way. Rather, she steals my attention. With her big lashes batting away, eyes crinkling and twinkling and the corners of her mouth lifting in amusement at the pages held between her tiny hands.

There’s a rhythmic tapping against my shins as she swings her legs–which are far from reaching the floor–underneath our table. I like to think that the action isn’t completely subconscious–that some part of her is reaching out to make sure I’m still near.

I am. I always will be.

I don’t think she’ll ever know how much I love her, how much I’ve loved her and longed for her even before she was born…how impatiently I’ve waited for her and how she was the inspiration of my writings…and dreams.

Now here she is, barely two feet from me. My life with her so far has been a paradox of my stone heart shattering and being blissfully renewed in the exact same moment whenever I look at her. Or hear her giggle, or feel her hand in mine. Or see her eyes widen at the magic she sees in everything I've grown to take for granted.

Has a man ever known adoration stronger than this?

I don't know.

But what I do know is this: the manifestation of my heart and all the love it can ever possess sits here in this bundle of beauty and boundless hope.

And she just turned 4 today.

Ticking infinitely closer towards
the proximity of
your quarterway ultimatum affinity.
Galloping on sidewalks
blending into shades of
the charcoal stallion
dancing at your feet.

The one that you barely notice
It when you wake up in the morning
Probably snoring,
Finding you alarm clock has been,
Moved.
Two inches to the left.
The difference that doesn't fit right.
But if you turn on the light
My energy is still there.
The kind of midnight text
It wakes you up
When you are fast asleep
because, at midnight,
all the hurt weep.
You may be eyes open wide
Like an energy bomb of emotions
Exploded into your aura
Causing you to hate yourself
But my dictionary begins with adoration
And stops at the word you.
As if I didn't know enough
I have read through it cover to cover
Through and through
Enough to find
that you can still talk to me.

He examines the when
He examines the how
The what, the who, the huh? The seriously?
Then came to a conclusion that it could not be concluded
His love for her was a contradiction
The most beautiful thing wrapped up in the ugly of this world
His love for her was hypocritical
Hates how things folds and mold to the body of mere humans
But loves the same things on his Goddess  
She was his Goddess
He could never understand how something so wrong could be so fulfilling to praise
In ways that would be considered a sin
She was his sin
He loved the ways her eyes would not twinkle in the sun nor moon light
How she could be so ordinary
How she completely disregards everything that is his disability
How never had he heard
The letters O,C or D placed together in the constellation of words
That spills from her mouth into the Milky Way
It scared him how fast words could escape the cage of her mouth
Without a second thought
He envied the confidence she had in her words
He loved the way she loves the beach
He was afraid of how careless he was with life
For he would follow her anywhere she went
Even if it was as scary as the beach
He feels himself as Icarus
Deliberately flying closer to the sun
So that he could be swallowed into the liquefied breaths of his Goddess
This is how he sees his love
This is how he feels his love. This is how he loves her