Never meant to be a symbol.
There are others who came before.
They carried the cross long before me.
I walk their path with head held high;
A journey emblematic of the times.

Getting here took some time.
Determination of Napoleon…
The grit of John Wayne…
The courage of the Cowardly Lion…
All emblematic of what was required.

Now, I am free.
Life is different now.
I am surrounded by those who matter.
Their love consumes like the ocean.
I am planning on drinking it in.
What happens next is meant for me.

I no longer dread winter's hand.

The cold now seems to ward off the darkness,

that tends to seep into my mind, like sand.

It preserves my youthful soul.

love is just a fire
you forget to put out

A faint glow and you may see
All the colors and shadows that
Our private world displays
Once the lights go out.

The scariest moment is always just before you start,
the scariest moment is when you leave me in the dark.
The scariest thought is of being left behind,
the scariest thing is when there's so much lost time.

Everything pulls you in, and pushes me out;
stuck on the sandy tide, with no way back, I simply pout.
Hiding my fear of being left behind, hiding my fear of losing you again.
I fear you speaking the simple words, "Goodbye, my friend."

Once again, I tell you how I'd miss you so,
just to be laughed at and teased, and told you wouldn't go.
At least I heard those words, before I had to leave.
At least I heard your voice, before I had to plead;
"Let me stay, just a little longer."
But my time was up, and I left, with your heart conquered.

The scariest moment is always just before you start,
the scariest moment is when you leave me in the dark.
The scariest thought is of being left behind,
the scariest thing... is running out of time.

an angel
carefully hand-crafted
you.

I want a man
to be a man.
A man who knows
what to do,
exactly when,
and knows
who to do it to.

Why?

I want a man to be a man,
meat mountain in motion,
so little body fat
that
        I. . .

Can make mixed drink rivers
flow through the cracks of
his ****** abdominis.

Now,
dance 2 it.

Now,
dance 2 it!

I want a girl
to be a girl.
Her, tolerant,
forever
diminutive,
and knows
how it goes, because.

Why?

I want a girl to be a girl,
Youtube tutorials,
one of two: **** or ***.
I
  want. . .

Long hair and circus paint
on a few warm holes,
willing and wet, or, at least
wet.

Now,
dance 2 it.

Now,
dance 2 it.

Now,
dance 2 it!

It's raining money
where it rains.
In the open.
It's raining respect
where it rains.
In the light.

Where am I?
(Where am I?)

I'm. . .         here.

Locked out of my own mind: let me back in!
The keys crack
        off, break and jangle,
        flat palm against a door: let me back in.
        Checking all the doors, solid.
And wait, is there noise coming from inside?
Glass shattering? Wood splintering?
Mystery cracks and creaks, not giving a hint:
what is wrong!? Is everything okay?
        Let me back in!
Checking the windows, do they slide? Are they unlatched?
No. Something is not right ...but what could it be?
Both palms on the glass,
eyelashes against the glass: curtains
made of smoke. Heat. Smack with both hands,
punch. Pick up a rock and throw it:
it’s only glass. It will break
and I will get back in,
will see what is wrong and how to make it better.
Beat out the flames and put everything back in order,
back in place. Then all will be peaceful
and I will relax with relief back into myself, all back to normal
except for one shattered window.

Hesitate, rock in hand to wonder:
is it worth it?
All the sounds have gone quiet:
maybe it is over, maybe
nothing is wrong. Maybe
I’m about to break a window for no reason,
        cause a ruckus for no reason,
        throw a fit, make a scene, get up in arms,
                                                                ­               for no reason.
And maybe it’s better not to know,
to wait outside until it passes,
                  whatever “it” is.
Just hold still and wait, like an animal caught out in the open,
bracing against foul weather. Commit to it:
living separately for a little while.
Think only of the next second
and how to get there.
Grow a second skin, maybe.
Watch the plants, watch
as the moss unfurls
like someone shaking out a blanket,
the trees thicken.

Again, the sounds,
        the signs that all is not well.
Someone is locked in there,
someone unable or unwilling to communicate with the outside.
A crack, something shifting.
Thoughts and memories realigning,
resorting to sorting through disorganized databases,
disbanding old patterns and expectations.
Inscrutable.
My mind still locked,
I have to guess what I am thinking.
                           what I am feeling.
                           what I am missing.
Peer through the windows for a glimpse.
Ask again, what is wrong?
without receiving an answer.
Just smoke leaking through the keyhole.
Falling asleep on the doorstep in spite of the wind and noise.

And when finally the storm is over.
A creak.
A door, open.