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Mena Mulugeta Jul 2018
It’s deeper than that.
It’s deeper than the ocean.
It’s this feeling I can’t bare.
My heart thumping so quick

Adrenaline rush when I heard the
Words that you were gone.
Altitude is so high I can’t even cry.
12 Empire State buildings tall, and
I still really couldn’t reach my soul.
My emotions overpowering many things
Wishing you were here,
wishing there was a golden stairway to heaven.
I would climb milestones
just to hear your voice.
I wish I could come up home,
and sit down just to see your reflection.

You’re shining brightly
with flashes of light.
Looking like an Angel
I feel your presence.
  Things are unreal
  time is not ours,and
Forever you will be in my heart.
Rest In Peace to you beautiful souls.
May all you beautiful souls Rest In Peace Beruk
Heavy Hearted Aug 2019
I would like you to stay.
Stay where you've always been-
Where I once was. I would like you to stay
With me. And I know that it is wrong and
to even express
How still I long for you to stay- but I cannot bare the bruise
Of another milestone
Whipped at my head
though they're not even mine.

I never thought I would become all that I now am. I never thought I was this capable of hurting myself. I never thought I would be this alone surrounded by all the things I love and understand. I never thought this would happen so early on;
The great distance left bearing only heavier weights.

So I'll take whatever milestones I can
And abuse their theoretical beauty

The sleep

and breaking of my bones-

My last and final duty.
These compartments are ready to take you back to the stars
Mercury, Mars and Venus reside in our hearts
Lines of defiance define our trajectories
And we are inspired by these ancient refectories
Perfect any metal and it will eventually turn into gold
Amulets sold to merchants who cast shadows on the road
They shrug their shoulders and wear beards and glasses on their nose
With a rose in their pocket and another folded in a handkerchief
But are we getting any closer to the pathways of our Soul.
Mae Aug 2018
Life has many milestones.
Each bringing a significant change to one's life.
Whether that be a birthday, a wedding, a child.
But it's difficult to admit the sadder milestones that we carry with us.
However these negative moments also have a significant effect on us.
This is my list of milestones I hate to admit.
But they have impacted me tramendously.
It's time I released them so I can look ahead.

Molested by a boy at age 4.
Countlessly ***** by my sister starting at age 5.
***** by my therapist at age 7.
Beat by my sister throughout childhood.
Bribed and verbally abused by my step father to condition me to keep my issues to myself.
Traumatized at 10 by my father and his ex due to a domestic abuse situation.
Almost drowned from my first public panic attack at age 16.
Harassed by a man at a concert at age 20.
Endured the hell that relationships always bring.
Attempted suicide twice at age 21.
And a man attempted to **** me at a party last week while I was intoxicated.

I know I'm not the only one with these difficult memories.
And knowing I'm not alone will always be my comfort.
But I'm letting it all out;
purging out the evil so I can be releaved.
And now my hope is to heal and become whole again in the healthiest way possible.

I can overcome these milestones.
I know I can.
White Widow Oct 2018
A Milestone
Should not be a millstone,
Weighting your Spirit.

Rather, a stepping stone
Buoyed in the water of life.

Used to keep you
Above water
As you bridge the gap.

Milestones should not
Be millstones.

Rather, paver stones
Used to mark your path.
Where you've been.  
Where you're going.
Forming a pleasing pattern
In the Earth to gaze upon.
To excitedly anticipate.

Milestones should not
Be millstones.
To grind you down
While you continue to grow.

Rather, gem stones
That glitter with the light
Marking the Blessings
Along your path.

Milestones are not millstones.

Unless you see them that way.
Special milestone for me tomorrow; I'm not where I had envisioned for myself, but I'm learning to enjoy the journey!
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2019
again, madness!

one eye tears, why must you return to the old familiar,
the poets prescribed, already so well covered?


must. it is the only shade of my voice that persists,
all else vanity.
these are words handily eye-read, given.
all I need do is “repeat after me” somewhat well,
and fill in the blanks.

he writes me, in another place, to another name, describing himself:

“I'm a charming man with a fragile patience.”

no sir, Muses order me to disagree,
you are a fragile man with a charming patience!

your fragility is a royal hallmark, embedded in every scribing,
this human indentation, always well hidden, on the underside of the wine cup, the base of the candlesticks, the inside of the wedding ring of your tying allegiance to the humbled humanity.

the charming patience is the wait time tween your visions of
the excellence of the common, the exquisites of the small,
the delights of loss and pain translated into mercurial milestones,

here I cease, for overly long praise is a river too long, no end in sight,
making great and wide just another poem.

he writes me, in another place, to another name, describing himself,
yet again:

”A thousand poems I don't write, but they get written
in my heart.

A thousand!
ours is the patience fragile, your innate screen that filters out

these thousand forbidden unwritten,
needs a cleaning, open the tiny apertures and release them, for we are the humans needing, for the breathing of your fragile charm.

the Muses do thee attend.
their patience neither charming or fragile,
reminding me, they too have a thousand.

a thousand other ears into which to whisper that
imperative imperial command,
and they river no delay...
the days has come when I can only write of others, this is the only shade of my voices that survives.
aphrodite Nov 2018
loving you wasn't an innocent kind of love,
it was guilty and achy in a way that felt so good i couldn't even talk about it.
and when we finally decided it was time,
i lost my best friend.
i felt you forget me every evening before we became strangers
and i still wake up in tears in the middle of the night because in a dream, i remembered what it felt like when you held me

eventually, you become numb to the pain that is no longer constant
the feeling of nostalgia becomes muted by the louder sounds of life:
like the ringing alarm clock reminding you that you’ve still got a job to show up to,
like the radio announcer's voice telling you that we're expecting clear skies.
there are moments throughout the day when you forget to think about them, forget to stare at old pictures, forget to cry in bathroom at work
there are milestones that will take place and they won't show up;
like your graduation, or your brother's wedding
and you almost don't notice their absence.

you think you won't be able to go on without them,
but you do.
you find there are new songs stuck in your head, even if you never forget the lyrics to your old favourite one.
you learn to let go in small parts -
you hear his name and your body doesn't flinch,
you walk past the liquor aisle without thinking to pick up his favourite brand of whiskey.

and one day, without even realizing,
you notice how straight you stand without the weight of their world pushing down on your shoulders.
Jesse stillwater Aug 2018
Marooned  land-locked
    on  island  earth

Born with an orphan’s
    unknowable ache

Born with an empath heart
– always feeling too much –
mystic receptors wide awake
    in a highly sensitive soul

It’s as if I've walked along
      forever alone,
    one step at a time,
    lost in a restless nebula
from the earth to the moon

Consciously dreaming
      to steal away, 
bearing the weight of the sky, 
upwards over the mountain,
away from these chains
         that bind

    The maelstroms echo
behind silenced, probing eyes
with an unsated thirst
      to be wanted
    dead or otherwise:

Never understanding
    the reasons why,
spinning around in my head;
where "once upon a time"
        was hidden,
        buried alive              

A lifetime spent trying
    to unlearn the things
    I wish I’d never
    sought to know,
    clinging to the love
I've touched in my life
  evermore enwombed
       in my heart

    Passing milestones:
walking another barefoot mile
passing so many locked doors
    without keyholes
– way outside the lines –

    Choking on all
    the latent words
      lay fallow, 
      left unsaid 
Always looking for
something dreamt
but seldom manifest 

Growing so tired and weary
with no one standing by my side;  
no one to lay down beside me
    to take a rest for awhile

Just another chapter
in a timeless same old story;
  another dark star
      burned – out
      – vanished –
into the utter obscurity
of a sky so close and yet
       so far away...

Jesse Stillwater ... August 22, 2018
Thank you for reading ...
Spicy Digits Dec 2019
Why hate these legs
When they get me places

The fat under my chin
Hugs my throat like a winter coat

The backs of these arms of mine
Are my groupies
As I reach those gilded milestones

Why lament the soulful sadness
Of such big eyes
When they gift me joy in sunsets

It's true stomach bulges lazily
But she has endured years of deep sadness and chaos

Why curse my stressed spine
The radar of fear and perfectionism

Hail the skin for being my mother and protector
You beautiful olive spread

Why hate me
When you're moving parts of an intricate forest
Xallan Jun 2019
I look for family in everyone---
My blood banked me in brick buildings
And grumbled when I didn't smile.
My childhood was only legos,

Plastic strewn across the floor
That I step on if I dont watch when I'm going.
I'm growing, I grew up.
No milestones but the ones I set
And ones I'm told I passed 5 miles ago.

My home is a roof over my head
Without walls, without windows, without doors.
It is nothing more than a place to be,
Like any other place, and it is not my home,
Nor is any other place. I do not have a home,
I make my own.
In churches, in hearts, in moments

But not in a person, not in a bed, to call mine.
I plan to burn all my bridges eventually
I learned to swim.
Breaking knees, I break my knees
And I patch myself up with bandaid.

Every community a mourning
Of a family that might have been
Of a childhood that should have been
Of a person that would not have been.
A mourning rich with regrets that aren't mine to have.

I pretend the past doesn't exist
And sometimes I make-believe the future doesn't, either
I pick through the shame
For something worth keeping.

My only family is my tea
When I am gone, it will cool and settle
And someday it will join the rivers
And pass through the gills of a million fish
Returning to their hatching bed to spawn
And finding dam after dam.
I wanna real family.
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2019
~for Sreetama Chatterjee, granddaughter of Pradip Chatterjee~

A first time grandfather observes,
“that one path ends, a new one begins”

A philosophy, an observation shared,
one that I am, in multiplicity acquainted

Sources inform me that Sreetama is
of Sanskrit origin, the meaning is
“gift of god”

how wonderful are the mysterious coincidences in this world!

For my Hebrew name,
Netanel, given to me at my birth, the meaning is
“gift of god”

Sources inform me that name of Sreetama has given you
the desire for creative, artistic or musical expression
in an original way.

I can pretend to be surprised, but who would I fool?

you, granddaughter of my friend, an esteemed poet,
Pradip Chatterjee,
who delights in you,
you, an exquisite of the small
you, so powerful already,
that he has shelved his writing,
(temporarily I suspect)
to tend to your upbringing

You, so powerful already,
you, will break his will, command his attention,
demanding, bringing out his issuance of a thousand poems,
all revealing and reveling in your mastery,
over him!

You, so powerful already,
in secret concert, listening secretly,
already composing silently, smilingly,
awaiting the arrival of your fine,
very fine, motor skills,
to grasp, own! his writing utensils,
with the strength of a child insistent

You, feeling the power within those instruments,
sparking a commencement and a continuation of
the generational gift residing in your senses

I await those artistic creature creations
most impatiently...

“the charming patience is the wait time tween your visions of
the excellence of the common, the exquisites of the small,
the delights of loss and pain translated into mercurial milestones,

छोटी की उत्तमता
[ *~ बालिका श्रीतमा चटर्जी के लिए कविता ~

प्रथम बार दादा ने महसूस किया,
"एक पथ पड़ाव तक पहुंचता है, एक नया प्रारम्भ होता है"

एक दर्शन, एक अवलोकन साझा करता हूँ
जिससे मैं भली भांति परिचित हूँ| कई गुना

स्त्रोत बताते हैं कि शब्द 'श्रीतमा' संस्कृत मूल का है,
जिसका अर्थ है - "ईश्वर का आशीर्वाद";

दुनिया में होने वाले रहस्यमय संयोग, कितने अद्भुत हैं!
मेरे हिब्रू भाषा के नाम - 'नेटानेल'

जिसे मेरे जन्म के समय, मुझे दिया गया
उसका भी अर्थ यही है - " ईश्वर का आशीर्वाद"

मुझे, सूत्र बताते हैं कि 'श्रीतमा' नाम ने तुम्हे
रचनात्मक, कलात्मक या संगीतमय -

अभिव्यक्ति की इच्छा दी है
बिलकुल नैसर्गिक और मूल तरीके से।

मैं आश्चर्यचकित होने का नाटक कर सकता हूं,
लेकिन आखिर मैं किसे मूर्ख बनाऊंगा?

तुम, मेरे दोस्त, एक सम्मानित कवि,
प्रदीप चटर्जी की पोती हो

जो तुम्हे देख कर प्रसन्न होता है
तुम, छोटी हो, श्रेष्ठ हो, उत्तम हो

तुम पहले से ही इतनी खुशनसीब हो कि,
उसने अपने लेखन को रोक कर दिया,
(अस्थायी रूप से, ऐसा मेरा मानना है)

केवल और केवल
तुम्हारी अच्छी परवरिश के लिए

तुम पहले से ही इतनी शक्तिशाली हो,
तुम उसकी इच्छाशक्ति को मोड़ सकोगी

उसके ध्यान को अपनी ओर खींचकर
अपनी महारत से उसके भीतर

हिलोरें मार रही हज़ारों कविताओं को
रहस्योद्घाटित होने का अवसर दे सकोगी

तुम पहले से ही इतनी शक्तिशाली हो,
तुम चुपके से धीरे धीरे सुन रही हो

तदात्म्य स्थापित कर रही हो
चुपचाप रच रही हो, गढ़ रही हो

इंतज़ार कर रही हो, समय आने का
अपनी मांसपेशियों पर नियंत्रण होने का

जिससे तुम लेखनी को पकड़ सको
सुदृढ़ता के साथ नियंत्रित कर सको

कुशलता से उसका उपयोग कर सको
एक बच्चे की ताकत और जिद के साथ|

तुम उन उपकरणों में निहित शक्ति महसूस कर रही हो,
जो शुरुआत से ही निरंतर तुम्हारे भीतर,

स्फुलिंग उत्पन्न कर, तुम्हारी इन्द्रियों के भीतर मौजूद
पीढ़ीगत उपहार को जारी रखते हैं

मुझे तुम्हारी उन कलात्मक, जीवंत कृतियों का,
इंतजार है, अधीरता के साथ, हाँ, पूरी अधीरता के साथ|

Many thanks to Shiv Pratap  Pal for his translation, advice and exquisite attention to the smallest detail.
poetryaccident Feb 2019
A desire is enough
to set identity to a course
even though the journey’s end
defies the place it all began

while the clock asks no due
the start and stop are fluid
neither set for the whole
instead the traveler has their own

defying milestones on the path
stones erected in the past
become the lies for the self
even as their truth prevails

integrity is then transformed
as a need leads the way
with no regret in the now
what the sun may shine upon.

2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190222.
The poem “The Sun May Shine” is a glancing look at identity.
Ash Jan 2019
Humanity is simplistic contrary to the complex, misunderstood, myriad of separately analyzed individuals that psychologists, artists, poets, and scientists paint it to be. Each person is labeled with a different disorder founded by their apparently personal past tragedies and harbors the wholehearted, mistaken, belief that they are alone in their “tragedy” which is indeed not tragedy but a side effect to the human condition, and arguably, to the optimist,  one of life’s sacred milestones. Humanity likes to romanticize these milestones. They dress up their societal deemed shameful past with cashmere sweaters, line their lips with the grief of loss, and sweep their eyes with trust issue mascara all in an effort to pronounce themselves worthy and prove themselves beautiful despite their “unique” past events and tragic flaws. But they are not unique. When you peel off the pearls, when you delete the username, when you strip away the added flair to each sad story, humanity is all the same. They all front loss of some sort, they’ve all battled insecurity, they’ve all woken up one day perhaps wishing they hadn’t woken up at all. They’ve all laughed, cried, chased after the fleeting ideal of love, and questioned its palpability. They’ve each found themselves in a situation that made them ponder their ability to ever trust again, if they could ever love again, if they could ever be the same again; but what they don’t realize is that they are all the same. Rough the personal and each person is the same, just with a different name. Step back and behold, these seemingly individual fallacies of the human condition all spin together to weave a simplistically complex web.
JK Oct 2018
Holding the compass of uncertainties,
Carrying the baggage of memories,
The drifter is drifting along with the tides…

Without boundaries or borders,
Floating with the moment,
The drifter is weaving timeless dreams…

Playing with the shadow and light,
Swinging with the hands of time,
Unbound in the truth of freedom,
The drifter is living in the moment…

The journey of love and joy,
Build in every pause life takes,
Never holding back the voyage,
The drifter survives in the passion…

Miles and milestones left behind,
The strides always ahead of the past,
Moving forward in the distance,
The drifter fades between the lines of present and future…

Jayakumar K
Drifting with the time and space, a lonely drifter treaded along...
A woman with a past, she’s forever making peace with it
Its pages written when the years were raging and wild
mellowed by time, they nurse pain in brittle folds
when I try to turn them, she breaks into tales untold.

Her heart is stone cold and yet she knows of love
How? she doesn’t know. How? I can’t begin to tell
She gives her all to me and retreats behind the stage,
when I press rewind, she slips into the act to cover-up her ache.

She tells me she wasn’t looking, and in her made-up now
she built a life whole and knit a yarn of awesomeness
I broke the many mirrors that mirrored her insta smile
She cowered and hugged me to escape her own guile

You don’t know my past, she tells with mock belief
I remind her we are both travellers having come this far
Our journeys writ on milestones dotting many a stay
We’re interesting stories we picked and lived on the way

She doubts the past won’t measure up to my idea of love
The night, I tell her, doesn’t care what you did with mornings
It just wants you to lose yourself, moor you to its dock
make it whole again, and stop looking at the clock.
Is past a curse or a collection of experiences? It’s like a chasm full of pebbles, each pebble a story, telling of a journey unique and interesting.
shaun May 2019
they say it takes time
the wounds will heal
be patient,
kurt vile says:
give it some time
yet my imagination is not wild
it's matter of fact
black and white
like the words against the paper
reporting your passing.

june marks the transition from spring to summer,
longer days, fuller trees
yet it also marks the start of a decline
watery eyes, heavy limbs
a sense of loss incomparable to bereavement -
i carry one on my back every day
i miss you
the other is stored in my back pocket
loss of self, hope
waiting for its scheduled visit

i miss you today and i'll miss you tomorrow
the same way i have missed you for over half of my life
but i'll especially miss you when i get my BA certificate
the same way i longed for you during all of my other milestones

the bad feeling remains in my pocket
for now
but your last gift hangs around my neck
and ink dedicated to you will stay on my skin
until i see you again
Sea Nov 2018
Spiced Autumn air
Swirling through my home
It peppers my memory
With sadness and hope

It brings me back to seven years ago,
I was a broken-hearted girl
Perplexed over the telephone,
I tried so hard but he had made the decision to close his heart

But here I am now,
Older and wiser
Still dreamt of his distance last night
But truly,
My waking mind is over it

It's just my life is a river
And I'm going deeper into it
Once on the surface
There was so much agitation
So I held my breathe and went under,
Trying to fix the cause of my turbulence

I've definitely healed,
And learned a lot
Both the easy way and the hard way
These little internal shifts
That I've been making gradually
For seven years
Have produced something beautiful in me
Breaking through the seams of my previous tortured being

This river is winding,
So I never know what awaits me
But I've married uncertainty
Knowing it's always pregnant with possibility

I haven't met any cultural milestones
I'm not cool, popular or trendy
All I have to offer this world
Is a broken heart on the mend
But still I'm full of gratitude
And calling in more
For though on the outside
I don't appear to have arrived
I have a root of joy inside my heart
And it's rapidly proliferating
As my gratitude grows.
Happy thanksgiving everybody!
Maximilian Sep 2018
I want to disclose:this two bridges
This is a flow of milestones,alive and aspiration of great
Hearing of waters,where  not war
The Island  is hidden,guiding lamp
It is cleaned by wing  moth
This is light as a  forerunner of sources
The target,that stand  not in the worlds,but near us
Can you see in your home a way to another world?"There is"  or "was created by"?
Eight years old or so
I'm condemned to a joke
but I never understand the punchline
I just figure it's all a hoax.
Padded cells and restrained holds.
Perspex acrylic windows
render my spit useless.
My captors are fully grown
but I've seen the breadth of their moral compass
They will fold on it shortly now, I know they will.
Though they never do.

I'm fifteen years old give or take
when I lose my first child.
It was never born, but I know I wanted it.
I pretend I am not sure because
there's a lot of heat and pressure
cooking my heart, engulfing my head.

Crying over the phone to my girlfriend
a painful necessity, something my soul needs.
We are too young, careless, reckless,
confused and surrounded by ogling eyes.
I haven't had a lump of hot coal in my throat before
but it sure feels like I have when I try to speak.
Especially with my parents.

Pause, rewind
I'm six years old,
my younger sister is four,
my youngest is two.
My dad enters my play room.
Proceeds to tell me he's leaving home.
He won't be living with us anymore
but he'll always be my dad and
I'll always be his favourite and only son.

Dry my eyes and fast forward, please.
A little bit past devastation,
we'll stop somewhere around reckoning.
It's right after desperation.
I am fifteen years old again, some time has passed
since my unborn child left its mother
as nothing more than matter and blood.
The mother has left me.
Probably because
she was in even more pain than I
and wanted to confide and find comfort
anywhere else but in me.
I never could heal the wounds I helped to create.

It's time for work experience, I'm sixteen soon.
That's practically an adult in the UK
I get to work Queens' College May ball.
Maybe this time everything will be okay.
Shadowing sound technicians.
Sneakily drink the free *****,
since I always look much older.
Sun rises, I'm drunk and my mouth is dry.
I think I'll walk home.

Mum picks me up, I don't even remember why.
My hometown is only five miles across
I've travelled the best of it and then some.
Yet my gaze never left the sky.
I want to escape myself so badly I leap from the moving car.
I'm crying in the car one minute,
I'm crying on a roundabout of a dual carriageway the next.
The police arrive and mum's crying now.
Begging never worked before but this time it does.
The police officer says something about section one three six
and I am taken.

Whilst I wish I could have realised sooner,
I think I get the message now.
Perhaps I was never meant to achieve great things.
Or ever meant to find happiness in my life.
It could be that I was never meant to be anything
other than what I am and what I am
is the embodiment of sadness.
Unhappiness is tangible around me.
You can feel it, touch it and see it.
I can taste it and smell it, I breathe it.

It's me.
Me and me alone, surrounded by faces but alone.
The thought of loneliness is lonely indeed.
When thoughts are just emotions' greed
and it's our own expectations of life
that make it harder to succeed.
I've travelled cold, a road with no milestones.
Only icy tipped hurdles that are mountains
and I can't catch my sadness,
and I can't catch my breath.
Sunny Jan 2019
I awake to a new day
Yet feel unenthusiastic.
Unlike most others, I don't really care
That the new day brings upon a new year.

It just means milestones occur.
Important events. Changes.
My birthday's in 16 days.
Adulthood approaches rapidly, and I'm unprepared.

Am I immature? Am I not ready?
I'm unsure. Yet I remain steadfast.
I'm not ready for this change.
That day will only add pressure on me.

Their expectations are high, I suppose.
"You're going to be a computer engineer." Or something like that.
But I'm…confused. Parts of it I'm not good at.
And I'm left wondering if I even care about that class anymore.

What if I don't want to pursue that?
Will it be a waste of my "talent" or is it just a fleeting interest?
I suppose I could take up writing but…
We all know that's just wishful thinking.

My mind's clouded, uncertainty filling it to the brim.
And as each minute passes, I just count down the days
Until I can talk to her again.
Even if we're far from each other, we'll still be connected.

Just like the days before.
And then, I'll make her smile.
In that moment, I'll forget about my own troubles.
And focus on hers.

Is this a bad thing to do? Probably.
Do I care too much? Perhaps.
Will this help me forget about everything though?
No. It won't. But at least I can be happy.

Even if that's for a few hours a week.
I guess there's a lot going on with me that I refuse to acknowledge.

I'm a fool.
PG Dec 2018
Birds chirp outside my window before the sun even appears
Interrupting my nightly rewind of 38 years
Or did I spend time in the future instead
With decisions not yet made, and words so far unsaid?

Slowly the fog drifts from my mind; my thoughts are no longer far
Wearily I rise from sleep, and grab a drinkless bar.
With a routine borne from endless practice, I move into my wheeled cage
Simultaneously what I need to survive, and a source of rage

Not due to the physical need; limits are never a shame
But because it puts me steps behind in the middle of life’s game
Some say I should be glad it is visible at first sight
With laws and support in place, I guess they may be right.

This topic feels conflicted as verses leave my head
Like following a path that someone else led
Supportive family and friends, a job, and outside interests too
All of these are mine, and yet there feels much more to do

I know myself well enough that part of my drive
Involves shutting people up and continuing to strive
Shattering expectations has always been fun
Now it’s more like a chore that never gets done

A clock in my head that just won’t stop ticking
Decisions seem to just get made without anyone picking
Days go by faster than the roadrunner’s blur
And yet things seem to end up back where they were

Work always goes well; at least by what’s in writing
They don’t have a front row seat when my head and heart are fighting
Feeling like I must always be “on;” a perpetual switch
Wishing more people knew I can truly be a *******!

That may seem like an odd thing to say
But just stop for a minute and see things my way.
Can’t drive on my own, dress or shower without an aide
Nobody even considers that I want to get laid.

“You think about ***?” they ask in shock
As if not walking means I don’t have a ****
The confusion all across their face burns me to my core
And gets me enraged enough to go hire a *****

I have no shame for this hope; though some would say I must
The only harm is not acknowledging that everyone has lust
I’m TIRED of feeling like these impulses have to hide
I just can’t find someone crazy enough to take the ride

In my darkest moments, paying seems the only way
I watch, we *****, and they don’t get to stay
But my thinking head knows that won’t solve the issue
So I guess I’m still stuck cleaning up with a tissue

“Don’t try so hard,” well-meaning people say.  “It will happen when it’s Fate.”
Hard to believe when you can’t even get a date.
Single women say they trust me, can tell any secret, and know I'll be there
So why the hell do they disappear without a care?

“You give such great advice and always know what to do.
I wish my boyfriend was more like you.”
Well, he could be, don’t you realize?
Get your head out of the clouds, and stop believing his lies!

Another one starts with “My family doesn’t even know this; you’re the only one I’ve told.”
I thank her for trusting me; the move was truly bold.
Down the line, I ask if one day sparks could fly,
“Nope, I’ll never see you that way, Goodbye!”

It’s not just about the *** either; that isn’t quite right.
Sharing hopes, dreams, fears, and laying together at night
No matter what obstacles or fortunes lie ahead
Not snapping out of a dream on one side of an empty bed

This isn’t depression, although I understand the concern
Just endless frustration wondering when will I learn
Actions don’t speak louder than words; they all have the same pitch
Why does the story ALWAYS end with me feeling like a *****??

Even six year old nieces get in on the act
Asking when I will make the lifelong pact
She doesn’t even care about gender; it could be the same
Unless of course, I want to hear a baby cry out his daddy’s name

Children has always been a true lifelong dream
But I’m a few steps behind and time is short it seems
At least my brother has a son to carry on our line
I know the future isn’t written, but give me SOME ******* sign!

Would I even be good at it?  Could I raise them well?
Who knows the kind of lives they’d lead, or stories they could tell?
I can’t say this for certain without a crystal ball
So instead I’ll be present for everyone here now, and help them through it all.

It may seem like these are things a true “man” shouldn’t say
And I admit to thinking the same a few times, even still today
After all, can’t do home improvements, fix cars, or plant a stupid tree
What on earth would any real woman have to do with me?

THAT’S the worst part of being in a chair
It allows you to think that no one else will truly care
Or that deepest dreams should remain hidden for no one else to see
Because, after all, you have a disability.

Sometimes these thoughts go too deep in my brain
Just gaining speed in my life like a runaway train
And I try to breathe slowly, stop and look around
Because of treasures I have already found.

The only person who will read these lines; “best friend” is WAY too weak a word
Family in all but blood; she urged my voice to be heard
Put out her hand, shared my laughter, dried some tears
Without question, my best decision these last five years.

Parents who drive me insane and often make me scream
But at the end of the day, we’re all on the same team
A brother and sister who tortured, teased and played along
Because in the end, bonds forged are lifelong

Nieces and nephews I could not love more if they were my own
Relatives whose love is not only stated but truly shown
An education with two degrees no one thought I could achieve
Even though they do not mean hard times and troubles will leave

Music and DVDs stacked from wall to wall
Even though I’ll never have time to play them all
A sense of humor that passes most people right on by
Maybe they’ll see me one day, stop in, and wonder why

As night falls once more outside and the page gets ready to turn
I can’t help but wonder what next lesson I will learn
Will it cause happiness?  Sadness?  Surprise?  Fortune?  Alarm?
Will I be able to keep the peace or have a desire to cause harm?

Do I have the skills necessary to keep on fanning the fire?
Without feeling like I’m walking a tightrope wire?
It’s like telling one last joke no one’s ever heard before
Will they boo me offstage, or stand up for more?

As I look back through my life, regrets seemingly zoom by at great speed
Ten years wasted on the wrong girl, not taking charge when I need
More independence than I’ve ever had before
But not enough courage to leave my parent’s front door

How will I explain these questions to people in my life?
What will potential girlfriends think?  Or (God forbid) a wife?
There are times when these thoughts fill me with physical pain
And endless tears slide off my face like nonstop torrential rain

All these endless riddles without answers in sight
Life’s milestones like road signs passing in the night
A sense of unease and worry permeates my head
Still, only one option open, full speed ahead

There’s nowhere left to run, nowhere left to hide
Just gotta have the right people standing at my side
And no matter what today’s outcome, draw, lose or win
They’ll help me get up tomorrow and do it all again
Reposting this  w/ minor changes from original version.  The "only person who will ever read these lines" convinced me to share this, so here it is.

— The End —