Be patient.
     His heart is guarded and he has built walls around himself to keep others out. He deflects with humor and light words, he deflects by always being “okay”, he deflects by comically dunking on you—but one day his dams will break and his walls will crumble. You need to be patient for the day that this will happen. You need to be patient for the day that he will truly let you in, let you peek at his raw emotions, let you marvel at his strengths and weaknesses. Maybe it will not happen all at once, maybe it will happen as slowly as a river carves a canyon out of rock. You must be patient with him.

Be kind.
     He needs kindness like we all need air to breathe. He might not always think so, but he needs kind words, encouraging messages, thoughtful gestures. He needs kindness, the world hasn’t shown him enough of it.

Be compassionate.
     He pretends he doesn’t need these kind, gentle touches and kind, gentle words but he does. He is a desert parched for soft rainfall—give it to him. Be compassionate when he opens up about his mental health, his deepest fears, his family, and those who he loves. He is a man who loves deeply, and you must love deeply too. He is a man who cares deeply, and you must care deeply too.

Be understanding.
     He carries a lot of pain and a lot of tragedy—he has been dealt bad hand after bad hand. But he is trying. He is growing. He is making progress. Be understanding of his needs and his journey, be understanding of him.

Be resilient.
     He will try to shut down his feelings and shut out the world—it’s his tried and true way of survival. Don’t leave him just because he needs to do a hard reset on his emotions. Don’t leave him just because he seems like he’s okay. Don’t leave him just because he’s quiet when it rains. Don’t leave him just because he tries to push you away in his silence. Be resilient and never ending in your reassurance of him. Remind him quietly, or loudly, that he is yours and you’re not leaving.

Be honest.
     You must continually be honest because he’s been lied to, too many times. You must be honest and forceful whenever he refuses to accept compliments, because his truth about himself is poisoned by the pain he’s carried around in his lifetime. You must be honest with what you’re feeling, he just wants to help you and he cannot read your mind. You must be honest in letting him in. You must trust him and be honest in return.

Be yourself.
     He has no tolerance for fake smiles, fake feelings, or fake people. He has no need or want for mistruths, half-spun lies, or false claims. He needs authenticity. He needs someone who is genuine. He needs someone who said what they said and did what they did...maybe someone with the ability to know if they were wrong but not lie about their missteps. He needs someone who will show him all of their highs and lows, someone who will be unafraid of who they are, someone who will proudly be who they are instead of who they think he wants.

Be strong.
     He has been strong for everyone else for far too long. He needs someone to lean on, someone to support his aching arms, someone strong enough to share the weight he carries. He needs someone that will allow him to feel as deeply as he needs to, to be as weak as he needs to be. Be strong and be bold—for he is strong and bold, and needs the same to thrive.

Be hungry.
     He has a hunger for life, for laughter, for enjoyment, for smiling, for telling stories, for eating at his favorite Mexican places, for playing his favorite games. He has a bottomless hunger for affection, for great hamburgers, for passion, for art, for beautiful words, for learning new things, for dogs & cats, for white chocolate mochas, for jokes. You must be hungry enough to keep up with his appetite.

Be protective.
     He has been hurt too many times and he needs shelter from the world. He still cares so readily, so openly, and still gets hurt time and time again. Be protective of his sweetness, his softness, of his gentle moments. Be protective of his weaknesses, his shortcomings, of his darkest moments. Keep them safe, hold them close to you and protect them. Keep him safe, hold him close to you and protect him.

Be ready. Of course be prepared, but also:
   Be ready to laugh. He is the funniest man I know. He uses humor to show those around him that he cares. He uses humor to show those around him that he’s okay. He wields humor like a knight wields a sword to protect himself and others. Be ready to laugh, but be ready to see through his humor.      
     Be ready to adventure. He needs adventure. He needs little adventures throughout the days and months in trying new things and going new places. He needs big adventures to draw him out of his comfort zone, to take him to new cuisines and maybe new countries.
     Be ready to love. You will fall in love with him and his ocher eyes and calloused hands and strong shoulders. You need to be ready, because whether that love happens all at once like summer storm-clouds pour rain on cornfields or whether it grows slowly from a seedling to a honeysuckle vine twining through your heart and squeezing it, you will fall in love with him and you must be ready.
     Be ready to wake up early. He is a morning person and he wants someone to fix him/help him fix/help him pick breakfast. He is a morning person that wants to roll around in the sheets and play with your hair and skim his hand up and down your arm while you’re half awake. He is a morning person who wants to listen to music to start his day even though he almost never sings in the shower. He is a morning person by necessity who has come to love it by nature; try to get up and see sunrises with him, try to get up and share the breakfast table with him, try to get up and see him first thing in the morning with sleep in the corner of his eyes and a deep rumble in his chest.
     Be ready to listen. He has so many stories in his mind, in his eyes, and on his tongue that need to be told. From the stories of his day, the jokes of his coworkers, the songs he loves, the recipes he watches, the feelings he shares, the games he loves, right down to the things he doesn’t say aloud...he needs someone ready to listen.

Be steadfast.
     He needs commitment. He needs a white picket fence and a dog and two or three children. He needs someone to always hold his hand and stand by his side. He needs someone unafraid of his darkness. He needs someone steadfast, brave, loyal, etc. He needs someone to call his home. He needs someone who will look a storm in the eye, adjust her sails, and drop her anchors where she stands.

Be good.
     Actually, be better than good. Be better than great. He only deserves the best this world has to offer. Too often he is Atlas carrying his pain, others expectations, his past, his deep desires, and the world on his shoulders. He deserves the best to stand beside him and remind him he doesn’t have to be alone. He deserves the best of women to hold him through his lows and soar with him on his highs. Be yourself, but be the best version you can be. Because he deserves only the best this world can give him.

This empty ***** bottle,
has been cuddled and swaddled and squandered.
In my ***** it seeps to every dame between,
a dad and not knowing her own preponderance.

I ****, I ****, by the ****** of my hilt,
of the sword of unrighteous, self help,
and filling their wombs with guilt.

I've never helped anyone all of my life.
Though they would tell you different mistruths,
of their positional view, so skewed by proof,
undo, that I sent them through.

It's  a fun house of lies and mirrors shaping figures,
of veneers, so botched that plastic surgeon quacks wouldn't own up to
the scars.

I ferment peoples living.
I turn drunk ****** into angels.
I mask charlatan as queens,
and poison my own gut with the fakes in my head.

Crops die.
Crust subdues verdance.
Chronos rhymes the days and night.
Course subjugation to penance.

But now I seethe my own head into my throat,
and end in ink wrote as prose.
Killing beauty. Art.
**** Art.

Today is.
Death.
Tomorrow's not life,
nor living,
breathing nor breath,
oxygen's just a molecule,
it causes no spark,
except in molecules charged,
with dividing and subdividing,
and rejoining and conjoining into something that can use it.

happy flights :)

Underneath the face of a sad clown lies a little wicked small town
Just a speck on the map
You may just be passing through but soon the fever will catch up to you
Feel the ripple effect
Here you won't make a best friend, but a sister you never had
She'll guide you through the flowers and offer lots of laughs
But even at her most serene there's a sinister current underneath
A flexing of power
And soon you'll start looking towards the ground, where you'll start tripping too much to be coincidence
An as you look up the danger stops
She'll look right through you as if you were air and she'll say, 'Take my hand'
Soon she'll invite you to parties of mutual bodies, who happen to favor clumsy fools like you
But they'll treat you like a guest of honor, when really their accolades are insults with armor
They've nothing better to do but make up a coded language and test it on you
How did I get here?
How can I disappear?
But as you start to evaporate she'll throw you another inquiry
She's reading off your flaws with smiling jaws
Taunting you with mistruths
You look away hurt, and she seizes the moment to write the jab on a napkin
Something to share with the cronies for later
Ha-Ha, how cleverly subtle you are!
Friendship is makeshift here, my dear
The hippies don't play instruments anymore
The company she keeps would dispose of her in a second
But she's not worried, she has you as her bullet shield
The body-snatchers with mommy issues save face quite gracefully here
They all say they'd leave, but they burn a free ticket
A mafia with no honor
You'll have seen more life in comas than this town
Little coffins with hearsay mouths where hearts should be
Small town breeds fair-weather ghosts and cold abodes
But it sure is a great place to be if you're training on how to play dead

My love is like a bed of foam
Where our memories and love come to roam

The leave footprints all behind
Some are good, some not so nice

Through all the lies, and mistruths
It all comes back to you

Each and every mistake
Whether true or fake

Leaves upon my heart
A memory of permanent mark

I forgave you in mid-June,
After you blocked me on
Whatever social media
You wanted to use.

I found out recently you took the photos of me
Off your other social media,
The one that was primarily pictures.

And it's fine, really.
It's easier to remember the people you hate,
Than the people you've hurt.
Purge me from your life,
Forget a year of living,
Whatever.

I just find it,
Ultimately, the most extreme
Form of cowardice
I have ever perceived.

Why take ownership
Of the sins you've committed
And seek a way to repent and change,
When you can just erase the memories
And continue on
As a vapid narcissist.

Have you told her you love her yet?
I hope she knows you're lying,
If you did.
Because you told me a week or two
Into our relationship,
And continued for a year.
All of it was either *******,
Or you're lying right now,
To everyone.

I'll break every promise I made,
Because you're all self serving,
And the majority of you are liars.
I'll tell you who told me about
All the lies and mistruths
You spoke before we ended
And after too.
Just like all the girls before me,
You got bored and decided
You'd be a crybully and end it as a victim.
You're a child, a spoiled child for that.
For doing this to me and everyone before me,
And probably everyone after,
Because you'll never be happy
With anyone who has free thought,
And doesn't want to be slave to your desires
And tantrums.

Can you guess who told me everything?
You used to hate them,
But they grew on you (with help from me)
And now they're marrying one of your best friends.
I hope that was clear enough for you,
You're a little dense.

Good thing she bailed too.

I can't wait for the moment when I can tell
Everyone every awful thing you did.

I forgave you,
In mid-June,
For every horrible thing you did
To me.
Whether it was in the beginning of "Us"
or the end,
And everything
In between.

Because there is no more
"Us".
Only your lies
And my memories.

The only thing I regret
From our time together,
Was that I wasn't the one who ended it.

Go ahead and twist the knife in my stomach.
I don't care anymore.
I hope it rusts in your hands,
And your callouses and blisters get infected.

I am not going down
Without a fight.

You have your lies!
I have my memories.
Who's the coward here?

I forgave you
In mid-June.

Roses they did wonder
contradictory to their character
but love had they squandered
at the hands of a gifted actor

What a feat it was
to become an unexpected pawn
they came in red camouflage
from his hidden pocket like a weapon drawn

Now bathed in mistruths
and dyed black by misdeeds
dismissed of thier behooves
as tainted blood stains their leaves

The roses they wondered
in search of a new elucidation
for their job had they blundered
condemned by pains preservation

She rejects them like a plague
as thou they were poisoned by his lies
though their part in it vague
she blames them most of all for the tears she cries

Roses they wonder
in search of their redemption
as her screams do thunder
while they fight against her apprehension.

We're the ones who walk these lands in darkness.
We don't want the sun to rise.
The shadows shield us from your madness
and hide the sorrow in our eyes.
-
As your fires burn around us
and you reduce the world to ash,
your mistruths and lies surround us,
and questions we don't dare to ask.

- -
So we dance in the lasers
hand in hand. We're the ravers.
Hoping love's gonna save us.
So we dance in the lasers.

We're the lost generation
with no borders or nations.
In synthetic elation,
we're the monster's creation.
- -

You know our world lay in ruins
yet still you choose to carry on
with disregard for what you're doing.
You won't stop 'til it's all gone.
-
Why should we clear up your disasters
when you can't even tell us how.
The time will come when we're the masters
so don't you dare to judge us now

- -
as we dance in the lasers
hand in hand. We're the ravers.
We will not be your saviours.
So we dance in the lasers.

We're the lost generation
with no borders or nations.
In synthetic elation,
we're the monster's creation.
- -

So we dance
and we dance
and we dance
hand in hand

and we dance
and we dance
and we dance
hand in hand.

Maybe this is where I belong
Amongst shattered dreams and denied hopes
Scourging heat and heavy falls
Sun stroke and deep floods
Abject poverty and closed roads
Decimated paths and broken hearts

A place where eyes do not meet
So guilt remains grounded
And pain leaves a trace in the stares of the forsaken
Masked faces that need no burden
Unworthy of humanity's unraveling
Stones their hearts remain

A place where they pluck the petals and lay the thorns as they match on
Bellies expand
Not enough roses to fill the void
Like an oversized pair of jeans
Stunned by anorexic egos

A place where they chase out the truth to paint over with coated mistruths
Reality dismissed
And God takes the fall for their absurdities  
Thunder that never strikes
Like a myth an ending becomes

When words mean nothing
and ink bleeds dry
I find myself stripped
empty though open
pulsating love slipping through my fingertips
as my heart bursts once again.
My thirsting soul cries
soundlessly
     sinking
my aching body into sapphire
depths
I am hidden behind walls of mistruths
dishonest dissonant notes
    fill my veins
as he strokes my face
   beneath the bursting
      stars.
Lips mere inches from mine although
mine belong to another
though I crave his
    breath
         tongue
               teeth
i am stumbling into vast oceans
of emotion
and i'm setting fire to the waves.

Born with a true heart. Raised within love. Torn apart I find myself reachin to past the skys above. Drowned in love a bright visage turned cold 25 so young yet my image so shaken a fickle soul with time on my side but my eyes are my truth, my wisdom, and downfall my efforts boring, my trying old.. A downfall for all who look within me.. My facade will not hold..

Hatred within me for those thrown aside.. This earth in a process of a slow suicide you run to lies but what you truly despise is these mistruths in your eyes all mirrors comfort with these lies it's just a slow demise..

From yourself its so futile.. You cannot hide.. This is earth, humanity, and us. Mired in slow suicide.. We try to escape but we are our own fate..

You can never escape..

Submit and be you as love turns a gray hue.. I thought I was a saint as did you but hey, Mr. Devil guess we are just like you..

We are lonely, we are lost, the young hearts of hope torn asunder..

Born into this world as it all falls apart.. Hope so weak but I must push on..

Refresh on a killed heart..

Shattered..

Torn apart..

Fantasy is merely a hungover version of reality, unbarred and subject to the whim of the dreamer

Loosely tethered to existence between a life we wish upon ourselves and a dissatisfied ego

For he who rejects this ideal reveals a falsity in his perception

And he who believes these mistruths that is found undeserving of confidence

Abound and lurk
within every nook and cranny
analogous to some annoying pest
here at Highland Manor Apartments.

They ****** and snitch packages -
meant for other than themselves -
think Grinch who stole Christmas
plus snoop, i.e. eavesdrop
big Dumbo ears as listening devices
(batteries not required)
or serve as rumor mongers
to don self importance
and trumpet "FAKE NEWS."

We (yours truly and his misses)
dwelled at aforementioned residence
about five plus years,
and no sooner did both of us set foot
on premises than hearsay
immediately promulgated
(metaphorically swirled about our heads),
and passed like greased lightning
thru the robust grapevine
purportedly wife of mine
brought in live snakes.

Oddly and interestingly enough though,
I never actually never heard nor saw
a fellow resident
talk (or whisper in hushed tones)
about me outright.

Rather than badmouth other feisty folks,
which leaves unpleasant virtual
aftertaste described as phooey zook,
thus comeuppance to reprobate recipients
I activate viz cluck
king silly reasonable rhyme,
(so keeps head up
for urbane adverse city slicker
you better watch out

(...better not shout...) just duck
and run for cover cuz poet took
effluvia enroute spouted by word huck
stir, he avoids naming
(chatterboxes whose lives
so devoid of meaning,
they figuratively kickstart tittle-tattle),
who vocally ramp up some juicy tidbit

taking page from former president playbook
letting their lips uncontrollably run amuck
totally oblivious to credibility factor
buzzfeed initial kernel of truth and truck
outrageous zingers suitable for National Enquirer,
tragicomical, cuz mistruths
courtesy tenants exhibit chutzpah to pluck
farfetched outright lies and innuendos

rolling of tongues of occupants such as:
"Bible Thumper/Holy Roller,"
"Bingo/ Phat Cathy,""Crooked Old Man,"
"Curvy Girl/Thunder Thighs," "Frumpty Dumpty
"Mush/Smash Mouth, "Snaggletooth,"
"The Bodyguard," "The Fossil," "The Schvartze,"
"Winkle," and last but not leased "Zha Zha”.

Give me fruit flies, mice
and/or roaches any day,
or give me death!

Although heterosexual
predilections punctuated
physiological pulsations
about five inches below
innie belly button of mine
showcasing undersize
male member, when fully *****
not much to crow
about, contributed
diminished masculinity within
body electric regarding

wordsmith crafting poem
linkedin with his feelings
of diminished machismo
male sexuality sputtered
courtesy handy dynamo
powered ample male
germ cells birthing offspring
two healthy females born
approximately twenty six
months apart, thine eldest
born right at Capricorn

cusp, and youngest made
her debut exactly where
Aquarius midpoint bitter
cold day ideal for Esquimau
one grateful father
prematurely ******* fantastico
blessed gift, which helped
reinforce against being
emasculated empowered
at reproductive prowess
happy as a lark feeling

indomitable as Geronimo
an Apache leader and
medicine man best known
for his fearlessness
in resisting anyone–Mexican
or American, who attempted
to remove his people
from tribal lands ruinous
and sacrilegious historico
plus torturous legacy settlers
gawking, kickstarting

and muckraking mistruths
about indigenous people
shamelessly reducing
so called "noble savages" as
one after another charade,
façade ******* up lame
excuse to invade sacred
hallowed lands impresario
gigs stereotypical presumptions
didst buzzfeed fire
re: kindling sparking eventual

their genocide insult
to injury courtesy diatribe
deliberately fomenting ill
will, where Native peoples
at receiving end of jingo
token "fake" reverence
bestowed upon rightful awk
queue pants place evidenced
courtesy place name
whether state, county,
borough... such as Kickapoo

hollow benevolence meted out,
but obliterating cult
chore wars hashtagging
"redman," courtesy eminent
domain of "Turtle Island"
indignantly stolen by Forbe
heirs by trumpeting
school of vandals battering down
millenniums back once
impregnable walls of Jericho
indefatigable marauders

wrought wrongs upon in us
sent occupants proclaiming
might of arms justifiable
reason (not necessarily with rhyme)
to smote women
men and children down
with deadly force transforming
happy go lucky agrarian
festive folks thriving landscape
courtesy brute force
utilizing mo' sophisticated weapon

re: of mass destruction
rendering harmonious leitmotif
presaging tranquility said
near picture perfect Kodak
moment lifestyle into
veritable charnel/slaughterhouse
desecrating thence scattering
lovely bones + trappings
of then helplessly, melancholically
quickly vanishing oral
culture to the four winds,

where archeologists painstaking
efforts piece together
long extinct histories analogous to
All the king's horses and
all the king's men couldn't put
Humpty together again,
nevertheless tragedy writ large
indelibly etched upon
collective consciousness longview
hounding one doggone
muttering long haired pencil neck

geek three score plus four years;
he reflects upon ****
sapiens wanton killing
of docile brothers and sisters part
and parcel of same genus
and species differentiated by:
creed, gender, language,
nationality, race, religion, ***,
et cetera since time immemorial
inherited without choice

genetic predisposition nsync
with environmental influence
(liberal Unitarian upbringing)
wages internal war against
himself, and times gone
by mentally toyed with notion of
homosexuality, yet never acted
upon said impulse
somewhat attributed and linkedin
with anticipated regret.

Fruitless effort squeezing figurative juice
Pandora called triggering
helter skelter to get loose
necessitating Bullwinkle J. Moose
to usher at yours truly
(an aspiring wordsmith) vamoose!

Hey ****** ****** the cat and the fiddle
went off to see a crooked man and woman
whilst cowards jumped over moo-ving little
pair of mismatched
calf fully ambling muggles,
who both walked from scan
din navy yah,
(nor-way could action be stopped
otherwise den-mark would be left),
where dog goniff imps
jousted with brittle

shaky spears, den did mark
neither path to norse east, where pan
demon yum erupted over adult
playing monkey in the middle
and bear witness to such sport
as dishabille donned dude named Evan
spoon fully ladled insults adrip
with indignity of loosing - bubbling spittle
spluttering trumping monitor
to claim game rigged,

which assault whipped a ban
she against being accosted
from mish shuga,
a towering ebony Amazonian,
who didst tittle
late tad evincing groan nips quibbling
over what appeared to be a van
knit tee fair of bruising egos essentially
fighting for dominion
over right to urinate i.e. piddle
and defecate in non

gender specific restrooms wan
ever the urge
to empty the bladder or ****** -
(even if poo peas, the size of a skittle)
fraught major firestorm ratcheting,
synonymous with dandy rhyme
blues clues without reason -
dime a dozen cents less ditty -
snap, pop, and crackling
as hot cakes on a griddle.

Actually, the above
juiced a freaky Friday sideshow
displaying, hurraying, layawaying,
portraying and tracklaying dis-obeyed
rubric of respect, where decent
honorable linkedin maturity laid
waste to politesse, whar all stops pulled
sans presidential debates shade
no light on meaty issues,
but mudslinging as faux hit parade
housing and trumpeting an offer

to make America Great Again
thru yelping vanguard,
uber up lyft promulgating,
and intimating 4 years
times 52 long weeknd rock'm sock'm
bash re: hollow wean
qua vamp pyre avast
state farm riotous quacking,
whence life, liberty
and the pursuit of happiness decayed

into growling pedigreed mishmash made
for kickstarter bullied
prize **** fighters
indeed jimmying stockade
bag of tricks viz contesting scalawags,
tearing like rabid animals inlaid
with bared teeth,
and mouth frothing foam,
who just barely evade
coming to fisticuffs,

while presenting scathing hair-raid
nada so hill a re: us political pugilists
making up rules on shutterfly
spotify, and not afraid
toot change horses in midstream
to fix outcome of game
of thrones spouting
unfair sands casino trade
thus, billy-clubbing husband
of opponent indulged

in many a rapacious escapade
smear tactics and mistruths
essentially, he sung hiz zone
battle hymn of republican party,
a mockery and charade
driving donnybrook conspiratorial
billed Jefferson muttering arcade
guarded by ensconced
male and female Petsmart Weimaraner,
attired in a Thom malt chew wuss
Nast tee getup

elephant and donkey costumes respectively
while viewers entertained,
who succeeds as next blade
runner, and earn chance
to run country into the ground,
then a fancy feast for morticians,
one world wide webbed graveyard
moss lee tubby
taken back by Mother Nature,
thee indomitable ace of *****.

I had escaped that way of seeing
truths and mistruths, so long ago
the pests of manipulation are teeming
in every piece of dialogue, everything I know
unwritten words and actions ripple with affect
and unsettle the world, dread alone can't stop tomorrow
I've seen the strings of prediction
influence and control, foresight is a frightening rein to forego
carried off by the affliction, let it all rot in dereliction
this snow globe is hot enough, preservation of your life is tough, the idea of hope is an alluring attraction
that draws life over time, the fatal equation
arriving at peace is the only solution

Corrosive as the skulls gives
to rust and self-perpetuated acid
this wasteland, where no man lives
chaotic, driftwood thoughts flow downstream amid
a riverbed of sleeping titans, who's hatred
like their tools is a weapon, the bolts hold the head together, their wrenches only tighten
they snore thunder, migraines, and whole months pass
sulking, shoulders bent, a cloud over me, can't even be saved by the bell at mass
a preacher, a rabbi, a pastor, failure as a teacher, lower eyes and walk past her
anyone can praise the strength of resistance to anxiety and depression
but nobody views rage as a power, you own up to it and pray it away at confession
because burying your anger, letting it out in fits and hiding for years, it only opens the window a hair to leave a full-bodied impression

We've always had to push that down and make it drown in our blood and guts, no ifs, ands, or buts, it's the topic referred to as your "you know who's" and "you know whats"
chronic, always over the shoulder like a kite tied to a noose,
balance uphill in the fight all the time, it can be let loose
I've seen people of integrity and the upmost decency get roped in by the pain
for it blinds me to the punishment I mete out and deserve, being so **** vain
I have taken freedom from soaring birds in my life, brought them down to my storm cloud level and held their faces in puddles of rain
it is hard to see anymore if I have swallowed the bottle or the bottle swallowed me, I choke on hot iron and I can't feel where the neck ends
even if it's bottled up, how do I pour it out by the cup when I know that with it I can ruin my whole life in less than fifteen seconds?