I must ask,
did the breaker of your nose
ever imagine
that it could form so permanent a fixture in my mind?

Did they ever think
that this feature,
so proudly crooked
would come to define a man?

The same man who bites his nails
who commands rooms with voice alone
whose shirt lays against his chest
just so.

When I gaze into the mirror
my mother's eyes peer out
on the first day with a twinkle
on the next a wistful pout
Though our eyes are different colors
more alike we are then no
still her thoughts to me a mystery
she may never choose to show

The mirror on another day
my grandmother becomes
watching birds at breakfast
saving them the finest crumbs
Formidable and frightening
she could also often be
all too human and imperfect
still she helped to make me me

Great-grandmother another day
the mirror then became
though much lighter of complexion
now the eyes were much the same
Though a humorous and honest soul
emotions quite repressed
she affects me still more deeply
than I ever would have guessed

Today within the looking glass
the only face I see
is the youngest culmination
of these elder women three
And I see them all within me
in my talents and my quirks
still I wish that they had taught me
how to stay away from jerks.

Curls.
Lengthened, stretching
Auburn curls.
Winding around the delicacies
Of profound life.
Growing incandescently
In a newfound, unsound method.
Vibrant with innovation,
Yet in the same instance, arid.

Questionable.
Irresistible.
Undefinable.
Desirable.
Allego­rical.
Many are awe-struck by this oracle --

She loathes her curls.

My heart pumps
My lungs expand and contract
My veins move blood

I am alive

I am fast
I am strong
I am tall

I am athletic

I am lonely
I am sad
I am struggling

I am depressed

I am proud
I keep going
I never give up

I am strong

I am compassionate
I get panicked
I love to write

I am all of these things,
And many more,
But above all else,

**I am human

~ just the short list.*

Her words, her voice,
the way she articulates
her soul's depths.
Creativity, curiosity,
the things she needs to know.
Smiles and giggles,
a vivid sense of humor.
A mind that devours
what it needs to grow.
Jeans and T-shirts;
sundresses and sandals.
That she appreciates
what it means to be naked
and doesn't flinch.
The desire to touch
and to be touched, often.
The way she can
walk into any room
and fill it up with light.
The mystery of why
she chose me.
Her sense of possibility.
The way she is content
with just who she is.
  ~mce

People are not flat and uninteresting,
they are more than their sexuality,
more than their race or ethnicity,
they are more then  their diseases and their disorders,
a person should not be judged based on a single factor of their lives,
they shouldn't be hated for loving a show or finding comfort in reading something you may not particularly care for at all,
people are more than their singular qualities,
People are complex,
People are beautifully and undeniably complex in a thousand bound and unbound wires that knot and twist and turn to form a being,
People are not these things at all,
People are these things as a whole.

Age eighteen, living life as a low-middle class suburban jobless fool with a confusing relationship and a five year old boy. I have nerve damage to my left arm, smokers cough and lesser (haha) alcoholism.     I guess it's macaroni (not Kraft, way too expensive) and cheese (nothing fancy) tonight. I should apply for a new job tomorrow, but I'll probably have something else to do. Besides that, I have no clothes suitable for an interview anyway. My hair is a wild mess. From behind you might think, "****, she doesn't have an ***..."
...but from straight on, you might think, "****, he looks like Slash."
I do not look like Slash, by the way. At least I think not. Maybe with the right hat, but then, I am way too short. I can sing like Slash, though.
I learned to use my voice like, five years ago. How old was I...?
I can read like Joseph Ogle. I love reading. I must have been younger when I started reading good material. Must have been a good few years ago...
I can draw like Dali. I think I found him out in Middle School...
I can play piano like ******* Mozart. I picked up piano earlier...
I can write like...
...well, writing is so unique that comparing myslef to anyone is insulting to both.  
Anyway, it's my raw talent, skills that I have owned and honed that drives me to be more.
They say you have to deal with the hand life gave you, but life decided to give me dice, and a couple chance rolls. I may still have a few left. For as long as I live, I will deny and refute the notion that once you lose everything, you should just give up. I have lost. You can talk to me all day about how sad your life is, and how depressed you are, but unless you do something to change your quality of existence, then you're going to roll snake eyes. Snakes bite, friend.
I got a lucky thirteen on my plate. I am content to keep, but I could keep going.
What do you have?