i know you are there
breathing as i am
peripheral and obtuse
wondering..at the words,
emptying of  their plainspeak
- they have plausible denial
if it gets too hot...too real, too fast
we need cover, protection,demeanor 
in this dance of hellos
still, the connection deepens intrinsically
regardless
...the shelf life of this poem
all but guarantees
its quick forgetfulness 
the obvious moment  has closed
and the world opens,resumes
continues as it must ..for now

...till next time my friend.....take care

I’m addicted to the feel of cold metal sliding across bare flesh
Addicted to the instant
when nothing marks smooth skin
immediately before
red rivers rapidly rise
painting a once white canvas
with a flood of emotion,
tears on my cheeks,
sobs caught in my throat,
numbness replaced by pain & sadness.
Addicted to the imperfection
of red welts and dotted scabs that follow,
fingers drawn like magnets
to the texture of healing skin,
tracing over and over and over now fading ridges
Amazed that I am strong enough
to heal myself over and over and over.
Convincing myself that I am strong enough.
I find strength in my weakness.

You can’t delete the story of your life
You can repress it or not
You can filter it or not
You can share it or not
But it goes with you to your grave.
All of your joy, pain, envy, burdens, regrets...
Feeds the soil in which you will rest.
And all of your contributions in this life
Nurture and inspire those when you’re gone.
So write a story that mostly brings you peace
And empowers others in the way they write their own.

Thinking about getting a tattoo
But, I take pause...
Looking in the mirror
I see my body’s already covered
Marked in invisible ink
Every inch of my bare skin
Painted with the joy and pain of living
From my heart to my hips
Color faded here, but poppin’ over there
Memories designed by your hands
Others etched on my own
A collection that makes me smile
Among a few pieces I regret
So, about getting a tattoo...
I guess I’m not ready
Because I can’t think of a tattoo
Meaningful enough, yet
To write over any of the life I’ve lived

like a little kid,
the sensations overwhelm me,
frustration and love and hurt and longing.
tears build up in the corners of my eyes,
as pleasure overwhelms me.
but you're not here
so i cry in my pain all night