My brother, Jake,
He had what it takes;
Shaved when he was eight,
Strong as a boa snake.
He had hair
Like Ringo Starr,
But played guitar
Like Ravi on sitar.

My brother, Jake,
He grew to six foot eight;
He had arms like legs,
Muscles like beer kegs.
He was fast,
With a ball,
His speed could do it all.
And he could speak,
Like a priest,
He kept us all enthralled.
His wit,
It was quick,
And sharp as a paring knife:
He was funny,
He was cruel,
And well thought of at school.

My brother, Jake,
Had a running streak
Up his back,
At the sign
Of any trouble,
He left on the double,
That's my brother, Jake.

So you see,
As I see,
Size is allegory.
Jake's stature
May bring rapture,
But he's a little man to me.

Im happiest with you.
The passion for change,
Good natured eyes melt
Resistance to intimate longings.

Of course, these words aren't spoken.
Written so that I'm free.
To explain I'm broken,
Fighting this world in a mask,
That is not my own.
You accept without knowing,
But I run away with my pieces,
Trying to put myself together,
Isolated, in my habitat of
Pushing you away, mixed signals
Hurting you like always.

Read these words, know I'm sorry.
I am an arrogant fool,
Pride prevents this fantasy
From seeping into reality.
I cannot get around you.  
Carve me into something beautiful.
Take these shattered remnants
Of my anatomy and make it
Art.

Une par une, les lignes s'accumulent
Mais des traits rien ne paraît
Et le dessein sombre dans le ridicule.

D'une noirceur lasse des temps indéfinis
Le graveur cherche sa matière.

Dans les recoins du monde archivé
Se serait-il égaré ?

La route est la même
Qui mène de la remembrance à l'oubli.

In the fall, when the leaves were just barely turning, I wrote you a song.
I sang to you that I'd bring you flowers at 4 in the morning
If you were ever sad.
That I'd walk to wherever you were.
When I sang it to you your eyes filled with tears
And that night you kissed me for the first time in a long time.
Months later
I brought you flowers
In the middle of the night.
You told me you were upset
And I walked to the store and got you roses.
You met me outside
Because it was cold and you didn't want me to walk so far
And on the drive to your house I watched the silvery light of the streetlights reach out to touch your face on the way by.
And that night
I proved to you that I meant every word I ever said or wrote to you
And you
Proved that you wanted me to
And that is why
I have hardly seen you since.

I am a coward. It is my weakness, and in knowing this I should be made stronger. However, my weakness perpetuates my weakness. My meekness and desire for peace makes me **** near gutless.

         I write to love. I write to dance. I write to feel.  I write to live.

I could have sat with the gangrenous, seeing the sawing teeth shred skin to cut further in. I could have held the hand of the dying; saying soft soothing words while they were vomiting blood. I could have joined the ranks of the foreign legion, became a non-religious missionary. I bet my writing would have been improved and all my other talents better used.

As I said before I am a coward. My heart breaks easily from poetry, movies, songs, photos, and tv shows. Imagine how quickly I would crumbled faced with the real reality. If I could see the seething rage, feel the ****** stumps, clean the bandages, while listening to their horror stories how easily I would break. Worse than Humpty Dumpty with smaller bits that crack and split permanently deformed, spiritually desolated.

I can watch the wicked human show from a distance. I can immerse myself in the darkness, but there must be a quick escape. I have to have a switch to click and make the nightmares go away. If I stayed, my thought would stray to the razor blades or pill bottle ways.

         I am a coward. I am sorry. So here the naked man is with all of his cowardice. I am sorry I could not be a better less bitter superman. All and all I am so terribly sorry for my weakness.

I remember seeing her
for the first time
and I remember
telling myself that
we'll never be together.

I felt my stomach turn.
It must've been the butterflies
fluttering away
because they know that
they will not be useful
to a man filled
with hopelessness