Funny how we woke up in the morning
and pretended that tomorrow never happened—
strutted naked in mirrors celebrating our youth,
laughing, knowing suns and moons couldn’t do the same.

We borrowed our arms from the fridge
and peddled bicycles with bad breath—
trading war stories ‘cause we knew
if we came back alive
life would still be the death of us.

The answer sits awkward in my mouth
Like an Egyptian vowel
Some language I have yet to learn

And I stand like a third world country that there are no commercials for
There are no heartstrings to tug
No Sarah Mclachlan songs
No one sees the hunger
Building in the bellies of my motherless country

But if there must be indifference in this love
I want to love you more than you love me

Your words have all dried up
and your voice seems off -
dry and cracked,    or
swollen and choked where
your heart imploded
in

I may have a heart that is broken in places
But at least I have a heart at all


Sometimes
I wince with pain when the past plays,
Like a film across my eyelids
Vision not without defect
But unblemished by regret

Now
I feel empty and hollow
Waking in the darkness

I've lost count of how many times
I've posed the question
‘Why did I not deserve the affection?’


I gave you passes as I gave you my heart,
In the kisses I returned
I thought you kept your heart
Closed away behind your ribs -

Perhaps you do.


Today
I will wash your sweat from my skin
And your kisses from my neck

Tonight
I will press down buttons in my alarm
For daylight hours

Tomorrow
I will smile and ask you how you are
I will sing songs walking alone
Down main roads


Is it
Freedom
or
Is it
Emptiness?
Who is who?
You and I*


I know,
The numb in my fingers and in my thoughts
Will pass

I would always chose
My hopeful broken heart
Over vacant space
A De-void
[I'd hoped to fill]


I should stop trying
To provoke
Barren hearts' growth

Turn away,
Mend myself

For I may have a heart,
That is broken in places
But at least I have a heart at all

your craving for life is insatiable
i watch you
devour the sun
you
attempt to drink
entire storms
the entire horizon
with
the way that you tilt back your head and stretch out your arms

I've heard people say love doesn't exist,
And by some definitions, maybe it doesn't exist.
But seriously, if you look at it this way,
People take pleasure in making other people happy.
Not all people sure. Some people are wired wrong,
Sadists and homicidal obsessives, actively serve
What I would call hate. Yet they do so with seeming indifference.
But, on average, the joy of giving joy exists, on some form.
Even ego-centric actors and politicians,
Who seem to be driven by selfish goals,
But even they take a measure of pleasure,
When a fan says "Hey I saw you guys in the Meadowlands,
And you rocked, best concert of my life!"
Or,
"Senator Williams, I just wanted to thank you personally
For the kind words you said about my son,
It brought some closure to our loss."
When you have a particular person who you enjoy pleasing,
And who you know enjoys pleasing you,
Well , what do you call that?
Take it a step further, and add the fact, that when that person is hurting
You hurt. Their pain
Becomes yours.
Now, occasional petty jealousy aside,
Isn't it fair to call that feeling something?
Call it love, call it Love, call it Tigger Yum Yum,
Whatever.
But don't deny it exists.
Because I've seen it with my own eyes.
And I believe them before I believe silly lies.

If a monster like me could find that feeling,
And live inside of it...
Anyfuckingbody can.