I think when someone looks at you,
you want them to discover
the silent pain that wells up
inside, as dark as the night

the blinding, harshness of
reality like concrete
like how it hurts when you
grind your teeth as you trip
over the same cracks over and
over again

the coldness that erupts from
the observatory stationed in your mind,
an eternal judgement being played out
whenever you're around people
of whom you can't ******* stand

the emptiness that echoes
through the hollow tunnel of
your mind, when you sit there alone
on the train tracks, trying to smoke
your dreams out, while you wear a
name tag and a fake smile and
be surrounded by nothing that
matters in the end

sparks, flashing and sizzling,
like when you see pieces of yourself
in others and catch a glimpse of hope,
a second of desire in a will to live
for once, there might be others
someone might actually care
a fire ignited in your chest

a falling fear, a surrounding environment
of darkness, drowning you, choking you
with your panic and despair, like how
when you were first born and didn't
know if you would live or not
if your parents would keep you or not,

a silent wail of despair and lost hope
echoing throughout the night,
as your eyes rain on the pillow
and you pull on the strings hanging
from the stars and the moon, and you
beg someone or something up there
to take you away,

a warmth radiating from someone
a hand you lace your fingers through,
a smile to memorize, and heart to outline
three words to say over and over again
never knowing if you both mean it,
but loving it anyways

a difference, a light in the eyes
saying, I'm different,
I'm not like them, a purpose in
ever step taken, a reassuring voice
of your conscience saying
they can never destroy you because
you're different, even though sometimes
you admit to yourself that they
were just words all along

I think when someone looks at you,
you want to see yourself from
their eyes, feeling sorrow
and gladness and more sorrow,
for that's one of the things that
has made you who you are
but you also want hope and love
and a steady guiding heart
a smile, a hand

I think when someone looks at you
underneath all the layers and
imperfections, they see who you
really are, the stripped down version
of a ******* mess

I think when someone looks at you,
you want their understanding
to finally free your hidden agonies.

I lost my first
wedding ring
that summer

we floated
on inner tubes
coupled together,
drinking ice-cold
beer in the sun.

A flash of gold
and it was gone.

I lost the boots
my father wore
in Vietnam.

I lost the first
pocketknife
I ever owned.

I lost my mother.

I lost my way
in college once,
watching heavy snow
smother the foothills
and switchbacks,
watching mountain
birds turn wide circles
above rough canyons.

I lost track of time but
found my father’s gun.

Winter will always
sound like the whir
of a cylinder spun in
an unfurnished room.

Excuse me,
hello-- is there anyone there?

I think that person-- the one with the blue goggles
swimming there in the furthest lane,
I think that person needs help,

It seems like that person is crying
every time the face resurfaces
to gasp for air, like a fish on land
I get a glimpse,
contorted and puffy,

Is it normal to kick that much
for a freestyle stroke?
or any stroke in general?
and the arms are clenching the water,
and thrashing?

The goggles remain sealed and on,
even during short breaks.
the teeth seems to be clenched,

I don't wanna sound strange or anything,
but I know all too well
how someone looks like,
how someone feels like,
when they're crying

and I'm sure,
that person is crying,
that person needs help,

and the tears
are mingling with the water
in the swimming pool,
the water that people swallow
and cough out,

Well?
is anyone going to help?

I can't really think anymore.
My words won't ever be enough anyways,
so this is really just for my own sanity.
I understand, even when others don't.
I understand, even when it is not always right to think a certain way.
But I just wish I wouldn't have to be so miserable because of the fact that I'm an understanding, compassionate person.
I just wish that people could have the strength to think past their values, their beliefs.
I just wish that everyone could be united through goodness, not by their thoughts on what goodness is.
I just wish that people who talk too much, listen for once.
I just wish that people who are uprightly moral and enduring and strong
have the ability to see those traits in people who aren't the same as them,
in people who will always be different.
I just wish that I could love whoever I want by who they are on the inside and how they treat me,
not by how other people perceive them,
not by what other people think of them,
not for how they see it as for my own good.
I just wish that people could escape from the words that hurt too much,
rather than taking their anger out on the little ones,
who lack everything in the world.
I just wish I could stop crying
because of other people who cry and think their tears are for me and my own good
but who really cry because I can't reach to where they expect me to be,
who really cry because I can't believe in
what they believe to be the truth.
I just wish
I wasn't so sincere, and humble, and cowardly, after all.

A creeper once was planted,
On a cold North-facing wall,
The gardener wanted her to spread,
To cover the bricks and all.

In the weeks that followed,
She strove her best to grow,
But the sun was so unkindly
And the frost so cruel so.

Alas, one day a child at play
Broke off her slender stem.
'It's no use' she cried
'I'll never grow again.'

But she was so courageous,
A brave, hidden spirit she found
And started sending up new shoots,
Directly from the ground.

One day she got her just rewards,
For all her courage and strife,
The gardener came and transplanted her,
To start a brand-new life.

Now on a warm, South-facing wall,
Where the sun kissed her all day
And the gentle breeze caressed her,
She grew and grew away.

She grew so strong and beautiful
And when the tale is told.
Her crown of joy was autumn,
With her leaves tinged red and gold.

Keith Wilson . Windermere  UK  2017.

Lemons (and a lemon squeezer)
sticky notes
a family that I can talk to
a life I'd like to live
a world I'd actually like to live in
to love, so I don't have any time left to hate
to stop enduring for things I shouldn't have to
to be different, but also myself
to stop crying, get up off my ***, and actually do something about it.

i used to pass my fingers through the flame of my lighter when I was 10
in order to see how slow I would have to go for it to start hurting
now,
can’t you see
why I was afraid when you asked that we take it slow