We all want to feel like flashing lights
but we're just stained silverware:
rusty, dusty, *****,
old, unappreciated,
hidden deep inside the closet.
We're only good for certain occasions
when we're brought out
handled with care, doused in vinegar
scraping the age of our backs
bringing us into Life, anew.

Yet some sets fit certain settings.
Appetizer? Main Course? Dessert? Dish Washer? Dropped on the floor?
Sometimes none at all because
we can be "made in china"
or from fine china.

And I hated the feeling I got
sitting in the middle of the table like a tuning fork
where everyone was passing food around
and I was just vibrating in their rhythm and sound.
I've been through many sets
much not quite like this.
Still life repeats itself like history
speaking of which, is actually me.

I've been held but never used,
maybe I have but not in the right way.
I was made to look like a fool
and I feel
**just.
that.

With ships sailing from dusk to dawn,
this is when God finds His prodigal sons.
Who swim in circles
searching the shore.

With sails filling from rise to fall,
this is how God hears His son's mournful calls.
Which flutter and fail
through winds wailing more.

With sands shifting from near to far,
this is why God knows His sons live for stars.
That burn and die
leaving them an empty core.

With souls trailing from up to down,
this is where God sees His sons stroke toward ground.
Where He watches ready
to open His heart's beating door.

Once in a while you'd call me regret,
wonder out the door and lose your way outside.
But I'd wait by the window,
all morning and each unbearable night of limbo.
And when dawn broke through the window and
the light illuminated the trail on your skin;
you would appear on the doorstep ashamed and keen
on me.
I think it's now routine but I don't mind the times because
I've mapped love marks on the atlas of your skin knowing
you'll want to come back once you've seen the x marks the spot.

To anyone who may ever attempt to be in a relationship with me:
Be patient.
I am like a wild animal, I need to be tamed.
I'll laugh to ease the tension I feel, don't take it personally.
I'll duck away when you try to wrap your arm around me.
I'll flinch or freeze in fear if you try to kiss me.
Take things slow, like easing a wolf into the position of a house pet.
Because that's what I am.
I am wild and I am free.
I am used to running on my own, used to not being tied down.
I have to feel comfortable with you for anything to work.
And that comes with patience.
Hold my hand when we go to a movie, don't try to kiss me or talk to me, chances are I am actually watching the movie.
If you want to kiss me start off with little things; start off with a kiss on the back of the hand, my forehead, my cheek, my nose.
Hug me when were alone, just the two of us when we're comfortable with one another, don't make it into a show of claiming me.
I am not yours to claim.
I am me, a person not a possession.
And I don't take transition very well.
So, be patient, don't make me jump into something head first when I'm incredibly frightened of it.
I'm going to be a nervous wreck after I've been asked out; just treat me like you always would and when I'm comfortable we can work on who we are together.
Because I am me and you are you; we are different people yet we can come together with our feelings and make something completely new.
If we're patient.

A million times to say
goodbye in this life,
over and over again.

Empty rooms,
windowless pains
oh, I'm going insane.

I've lost the patience
to believe
when everything
crumbles at my feet.

Even in the night,
there's no end to the fight.

As time, like deep waters, flows past me,
I sit on the banks, legs in knee deep
splashing the water a bit, waiting to see
your love's canoe, slide gingerly up to me

Your absence is like a candle flame
sure to wear itself out some day
but my love for you is a warm spring
eternal, its source deep within

I find myself thirsty, for a sip of the elixir
that must surely flow, from your lips
like a patch of parched soil, in the desert
waiting to be touched, by rain, for years

It is not in my nature, to be patient
when what I desire, is out of my reach
But the cactus must wait, amid others gay
for when it flowers, all will be okay