I don't bother anybody
Spend my days, doing my thing
Show up here and there
Hang around awhile
Then blow the scene

I've been called "too common"
Not welcome, at the affluent homes
Constantly harassed, insulting digs
Never left alone

I've never been offered
Good food or a well kept bed
I'm beginning to think
Some are wishing me dead

I've been intentionally poisoned
A brute broke my neck
I was kicked in the face
Out of spite, I would guess

Could this be my fate?
Cut down in my prime?
Chopped up and spit out
                 Have you no mercy?
I'm just a dandelion!!!

He was a homosocialistsexual
His clothes were multi-textural
Often had thoughts exceptional
With the swallow of a random pill
                  His friends sometimes glittered
                  In lights harsh, but not bitter
                  All his little sisters
                  Had lost their sense of feel
Circles bent by passing time
Trying to keep the stars aligned
A simple trick within his mind
To take his own advice
                  Play fair and simple
                  A tsunami starts with a ripple
                  Leave your troubles on the pillow
                  When you get up from the night
______________

     My neighbors are asexual.
     They're constantly adding on to their house.

Real
The real deal
That's pretty much how I live
And what I've learned to live with
Not so much what
As who
And the who is me
And how I choose
What some might perceive
                         as stumbling paths
Are my simple walks in the park
The rain
The sun
Have little effect
On my well earned
And fought for at times,
                       invisible umbrella
I step gently
Not when I am unsure
But when there are crowds
               of others who may be
I follow no light
I just reach
For the nearest hold
My hands might find
Whether smooth or jagged
It gives a bit of rest
Being more timely
            than being deserved
Still hanging on
Despite the fact
             This is as high
             As this effort may go
But I am not a pretender
My hands are calloused
From a climb
Somewhere below
If this be the space, of my legacy
It's where my heart, and myself belong

It seems like I'm
        on the inside again,
                        of the outside,
                                   I'm usually living in
There is little fear, here
        In this place of my own making
        The only things breaking
                Are thoughts,
                         thrown against the wall
                Better that,
                         than bouncing back
                         as problems I can't solve
Fears of loss
Are easier to toss
          at structures that can handle the blow
          No Echo
                   Of frustration or regret
                   No need to place a bet
On a world I will never know

I remember the fall
My life flashed through my mind
Years of confusion, in a second of time

I fired the King's horses
I fire the King's men
I finally managed, to climb up again

The wall is scary high
And my **** is still round
Yolk is leaking from my cracks
Running to the ground

I hope I can hang on
I know it's a gamble
But sunny side up
Is much better than scrambled

Pierced through
       by so many spears of betrayal
His  shadow appeared
       as a moving constellation
Defined by street lamps
        on the empty streets
He chose to walk
But,
   There was always
                more mass than misery
With hope lying,
                 in the darker contrasts
                                     of his silhouette

Accepted clarity
Muddied only
By half-truths
Perceived as real
                       A contrived conscience
                       With volume control
                       Lowered by convenience
                       And narcissistic survival
The retail outlet
Of self-patted shoulders
Selling in real time
One's own significance
                       Safety in numbers
                       A comfort of thought
                       The inclusive community
                       Of light
                       Through fractured prisms
Individuality
Sought in the scope
Of a petri dish
Hopefully,
There be an artisan
Peering through the lens
An expert in restoration