Rapture. The Duke of You, Caesar,
learning of this all and grown-up,
by blood and our power,  if a child
misses having the same name,
meaning, so that as a harlot; They
gather themselves together  (And
human),      or having it available
complexions mistake made women;
unclean. Having arranged the,
or that holdeth the distaff, and the
effete things, not substantial,   more
unmanly, neither of them;            more
antonyms: manly start up in the late
Middle English: the sea removing past |
partners; by ex-              (to explain the
status change), a female.       'children
anything that is unclean.        The sons.
For many questions first.
Rapture,                                   Our guide,

Caesar is everywhere admired by adults,
and our blood is in force;     If a child has lost
sight of  their name,   adjective: they become
prostitutes (And human), both are like having
the characteristics of error occurring through
women; unclean. Ideal for: unmanly,
effete things, solid, more unmanly, feminine;
more antonyms: manly, startup in the
late Middle English:       from the sea,
Affects past partners; by ex- (explain:
state name change) female 'female.'
children,               or exceptions,      unclean.
Children.             For many questions before
we call further happiness;         or happiness,
not for the power of divinity, we need
human services. Have you heard about
the reversal aboard the Argos, Lenora
turning into flames, heavy indications:
strong-fuels, to be peaceable in euphoria
sharing; joy, cheerfulness,   and pleasure;
happy; happiness, happiness
(If you like millennial | education)
Note to the castor sky for you Find out.
This is now on safety; The Life of Jesus
Christ in Words (such as some who
have received a Millennial Education);
ship of (believers) from the Second Time,
in heaven, he walks. Personal
adjustments disappear. For both he
noticed that bedside his shoulders
in the holy place.The challenge to
grow your name is peace; To send
it to euphoria and joy of that happiness;
Blessings and friends showed to the hospitals;
The joy of the laughter; The boat boasting
those whose appearance has caused
a controversy, female, awari, foppish,
unmanly, feminine; non-informal, campy,
camp, flaming:"Happiness has
                           been humbled"

Rapture. By the Duke of Caesar there is a great number of evils;

Many adults have power and blood. If the child,
the son of perdition, but to those who **** the children,
and the children of the insurgents to use their children.
Infant. The effects of many predators
in the forecast have been talking about.

Rapture. Caesar's available to the Duke
and here and there; Most adults have power
and blood. If a young child is lost, but those
who **** infants and children, and their children
so that they are unclean. The sons. Many
of the problems that we may not know in advance.

We now call
Further, happiness or happiness
of the divine power at work in human affairs.
Leonoram hear from the rapture
Definitions: ecstasy, was the promotion of peace;
the euphoria, the joy, the happiness, to the distribution;
happiness, happiness, happiness
(To millenarian doctrine)
to them that believe to pass at the sign
of Castor and Pollux in the sky,
Invention. This safety focus;
health and the advent of Jesus Christ.
The words (such as some millenarian
Education) ships (the believer) from
the second time, the sky, that you should walk.
He returns to his private withdraw
Big trouble in front of the holy.
Ariyanjiyan your name is a synonym for peace;
the promotion, the euphoria, the joy, the joy which,
and assurance of happiness, happiness;
the happiness of a controversy from the ship,
and that he was caught,
the promotion of the dispute?

Rapture. By Duke of Caesar many places are;
Many adults have power and blood. If the child,
the son of perdition, but for those who **** children,
and children of the insurgents to use their children.
Baby. The effects of many of the predators in the forecasts
have been talked about.

Rapture. Our guide, Caesar, is where all adults are certified,
and our blood is power
If the child misses
whose names, meanings: prostitutes
(And human), both available as having
the characteristics of error occurring by women; unclean.
Designed for: unmanly, effete things, solid, more unmanly, feminine;
more
antonyms: manly
startup

late Middle English: from the sea,
Delete past partners;
by ex- (explain state change) female woman. '
children, or exceptions, unclean.
Children. For many questions
before.

We will call
Further, happiness;
or happiness,
not for the power of God,
We need human services.
Have you heard about that change?
Argos Lenora into flames,
Indications: strong-oil,
to be at peace in the council;
joy, pleasure, and enjoyment;
happy;
happiness, happiness
(If you like stroke)
Note to heaven that tells you
Researcher. This is now on safety
The Life of Jesus Christ.
Words (such as some millenarian
Education) ship (believer) from
The second time, the sky, he walked.
Personal repairs are missing
For both you noticed that the bedside of your shoulders
In the holy place.
The challenge to grow your name is peace;
To send it to euphoria and joy
that joy;
Blessings and friends show hospitals
Salt of the smile
The boat was rampant
whose appearance has led to controversy,

female, awari, foppish, unmanly,
feminine; non-informal, camp, camp, flaming
"Pride has fallen"

It's 2 am
The television is quietly mocking me,
telling me I'm too large for my skin,
and providing a simple solution:
tiny capsules of hope, plagued with consequences.
Caution: may cause nausea, infertility, and (in some cases) death;
but isn't that a fair trade for a flat stomach?
The media consumes us:
"Slim is ****, you can be **** too!"
Girls get the message from early on that
what is most important is how they look;
not the poetry they speak
or the way they move their feet
but the size of their jeans.
Women in magazines and on TV portray an unrealistic ideal of what a woman should be.
They turn into objects.
And when we lose the fight for our humanity,
we lose the fight for equality.
Misogyny is bred through the over-sexualized photographs in magazines or on the TV screen,
but so is misandry.
Men are depicted as stolid creatures,
and boys grow up being told they should conceal their emotions,
but even the strongest walls crumble with time.
Chipping away slowly at the concrete until
a flood of passion or rage overwhelms them.
The emotional tyranny of masculinity is exhausting.
Boys' role models are fit, cocky, and brute:
He-man, Superman, Spiderman; and if you can't earn that label of "man" then what are you?

We have all been brainwashed.
Tainted to believe that the image of the ideal man or woman is what we should strive towards;
and no matter how tirelessly we scrub, the idea remains;
like the residue of a bumper sticker you used to believe in.
It is too late for us, but the future holds innumerable possibilities for a better world.
A world where women are not accused of provoking **** because of their short shorts and men are offended by the idea because it suggests that they are incapable of control.
A world where men aren't seen of as weak or unmanly because they express themselves emotionally outside of their bedrooms.
A world where despite your weight, gender, race, or ****** orientation you can pursue your happiness.

Confessions of a Blessed Hedonist.( tri word line)  
  -1-                                                    ­                -3-
Lived this long,                                                 what makes change?
Time just flew,                                                   a metamorphosis divine?
Mind playing games                                        worms to butterflies,
Heart desiring ever.                                           saviors, angels, messiahs?
extreme cravings doused.                                 what makes humane,
opiates in zillions,                                               friends, lovers, brothers?
Cocktails, a million.                                           Destinies unknown working,
Endless revelries futile,                                       in times unconscious,
Loves instant, genuine.                                       drunken slumbers dead,
Clean beds crumpled,                                         uncaring deeds cruel,
Checkouts late rewarded.                                   Unmanly acts shameful.
-2-                                                    ­                       -4-
Friends dear betrayed,                                         maybe one dream,
Away bartered loves.                                           among nightmares plenty,
Much monies made,                                            that one love-germ,
Abandoned ethics many.                                    under in-differences heaped,
Gods all rejected,                                                  faint glimmering self,
Except the Hedonistic!                                         beneath mountainous egos,
World enjoyed fully,                                             a sparkling life-sign,
Life wasted lovely.                                                 in cemeteries silent.
Morphing every second,                                       causes matter not,      
Into grandiose nothing,                                         by destiny’s graces,
Skeleton cynical final.                                           gratefully unscathed still.

Altered by the winds laced with a threnody tune,
life in the northern woods will never be the same without its bloom.
The deceased puppet master continues to pull the strings of the dehiscence heart,
one of this game is forced to take part.
The ears of an indecisive mind take in the plaintive sound,
which provides an ongoing reminder of how these feet are forever bound to this ground.
With the chances of escaping  this monochromatic box slims,
one might begin to take a swim.
The ideal way of living becomes a compromise,
the old personality leaves only the eyes.
Shed away in a abscission fashion,
and along with that goes all the passion.
Sitting down to confabulate with a higher knowledge,
carry  on the dreams of going to college.
Storybook barriers leave no saltant mood.
Being passed by society is quite rude.
A misnomer indeed,
being labeled wrong because of greed.
Hunger of such has taken a life,
of one upon a lake that was never a wife.
Letters that hold such wicked silence,
that can never be undone even with science.
This blue body surrounded by an invisible malediction,
or maybe that is all just fiction.
He has nothing left from his unmanly lies,
upon keeping secrets he thinks he is wise.
Knowing it all is never enough,
but with an abecedarian brain on might just call it a bluff.
Eventually farewells must be given without hate,
and one might hope to return as if all was in a somniferous state.

At the midnight in the silence of the sleep-time,
     When you set your fancies free,
Will they pass to where—by death, fools think, imprisoned—
Low he lies who once so loved you, whom you loved so,
                    —Pity me?
Oh to love so, be so loved, yet so mistaken!
     What had I on earth to do
With the slothful, with the mawkish, the unmanly?
Like the aimless, helpless, hopeless, did I drivel
                    —Being—who?

One who never turned his back but marched breast forward,
     Never doubted clouds would break,
Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph,
Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,
                    Sleep to wake.

No, at noonday in the bustle of man’s work-time
     Greet the unseen with a cheer!
Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be,
“Strive and thrive!” cry, “Speed—fight on, fare ever
                    There as here!”

Foster the light nor veil the manshaped moon,
Nor weather winds that blow not down the bone,
But strip the twelve-winded marrow from his circle;
Master the night nor serve the snowman's brain
That shapes each bushy item of the air
Into a polestar pointed on an icicle.

Murmur of spring nor crush the cockerel's eggs,
Nor hammer back a season in the figs,
But graft these four-fruited ridings on your country;
Farmer in time of frost the burning leagues,
By red-eyed orchards sow the seeds of snow,
In your young years the vegetable century.

And father all nor fail the fly-lord's acre,
Nor sprout on owl-seed like a goblin-sucker,
But rail with your wizard's ribs the heart-shaped planet;
Of mortal voices to the ninnies' choir,
High lord esquire, speak up the singing cloud,
And pluck a mandrake music from the marrowroot.

Roll unmanly over this turning tuft,
O ring of seas, nor sorrow as I shift
From all my mortal lovers with a starboard smile;
Nor when my love lies in the cross-***** drift
Naked among the bow-and-arrow birds
Shall you turn cockwise on a tufted axle.

Who gave these seas their colour in a shape,
Shaped my clayfellow, and the heaven's ark
In time at flood filled with his coloured doubles;
O who is glory in the shapeless maps,
Now make the world of me as I have made
A merry manshape of your walking circle.

I need a freedom from cynicism
from male chauvinism
embracing a softer masculine
an absence of sexism
and an embrace of a different manly-ism
one seen through a more unmanly prism
a less than bearing the whole weight of the family
and more like living as a 'we' community
not necessarily a man that's handy
but one who is able to more gently
lead by an example that's differently
fully
compassionately,
unmanfully
me.

Why do old men cry?
it's such an unmanly act
so we've all been told

"Boys don't cry", they say
"You're acting like a female"
"**** up", "Be a man"

boys do become men
they till good and evil soil
coping in the world

through all walks of life
anxiety sprouts like wheat
must prove their manhood

learn to make their way
to take care of their own selves
and share with others

they raise families
quality time, joy, heartache
see their children grow

just like all people
all men experience loss
life's equalizer

they face rejection
lose their jobs and livelihood
they go off to war

they watch loved ones die
parents, wives, children and friends
no one is immune

but real men don't cry
providers and protectors
with stiff upper lip

why do old men cry?
it took a lifetime to learn
they're only human

I used to get very annoyed with my mask
each day I’d implore, “Is it too much to ask -
that my glasses don’t steam up when I walk in a shop
or to not have to swallow down buckets of snot?”
But lately my viewpoint has started to waiver
as I discover new uses for this multi-lifesaver
like wiping the grit from my spectacle lenses
or warming my beard when I’m out mending fences.

Then there are subtler means of employ
(I’m not talking about some ***** *** toy)
where this sliver of material,
though appearing unmanly,
has proven itself surprisingly handy.
Only last week, on a long evening walk
I crept into a church round the back of Earls Court
and sat down to the tones of an ***** concerto
that whirled within me like Dante’s Inferno.
Out of the blue I began to cry
emotions stuffed deep inside reached for the sky,
streams gushed forth from each quivering eye lid
I’d not wept so fiercely since being a kid
yet though it did not cover the whole of my face
with my mask pulled high I was
at least,
saved some disgrace.

When this is all over (I promise it will)
hold a thought for how
your mask did fulfill
so many functions,
besides helping you survive
and perhaps carry one in your pocket
to keep the memory alive.

So i, maybe, sorta,
like you?
Oh wait, you didn't hear that,
I mean…
Unless you feel the same…
But that could be irrelevant,
I mean what would that matter.
Do you?
I mean, like share the same sorta bubbles I got going on,
Like for me,
My heart sorta goes a flutter,
And I can't help the palpitations and the eruptions you've been causing within my little drum,
Is it just a crush?
Or could it be at all love?
Whatever the hell that is…
But come on,
Dear…
I've never called anyone that,
Is that weird?
Or am I mad,
I just look at you, and my brain goes insane, craving you without caution, or thoughts of the repercussions that I ever wanted you to be mine,
I mean maybe you never will be mine,
Not that I mean to possess you of course,
But I wanna hug you, and look at you every day and call you pretty,
Ugh…what's going on here?
I mean I never have ever wanted to do that to anyone…
Once again a thought of you comes up, and I cannot suppress that thought,
I encourage it,
I enjoy it,
A thought of you makes me smile uncontrollably,
I don't know if that makes me unmanly, or anything, but for some reason I don't give a ****,
Unless you do of course…

While plucking feathers, while plucking feathers
The black tar envelops my unmanly sigh
A cigarette in the moon's light with a stranger
And the howling of an unsightly beast

While plucking feathers, while plucking feathers
The fog obscures everything in sight
I'm questioning the night sky on its numbers
The forest looks in disgust and curiosity

While plucking feathers, while plucking feathers
I'm bleeding out, I'm bleeding out
While plucking feathers, my ear drum pops
I say my goodbye and flap my bare wings

An ornate door leads to the mausoleum
A huge crack showing the entrance of grave robbers
The youths wander inside to belittle their ancestors
And my ballad softly floats above the ground

While plucking feathers, while plucking feathers
The young man rests near his anvil
Opening his book of poetry on an empty page
Only to find the blood of the martyr seeping

While plucking my feathers
Will the youth remember my name?
Will I be forgotten as a nameless man?
Or will I be the poet of the next century?

Pluck my feathers or don't!
Pluck my feathers or don't!
Pluck my feathers or don't!

But do not forget me and the steps which I took
Do not forget my babbling, my bish and my bosch
Do not forget my gifts, you, receiver of blessing
Pluck them rhythmically, slave, rhythmically

My feather falls, slowly to the ground
It is the last of its kind
And as my breaths draw to a close
The children laugh gleefully
Unknowing the end is near
Extinction on my name once and for all
Pluck my feathers no more, slave,
I've just blood to give.

Reflections
I lie placid silent and calm your great winsomeness reaches over me not disturbing in the least you add a
texture that is signature peace when caos ripples in the wider waters I know soft shadows speaking
revealing a clarity upon this mirrored glass of my soul you are as light as a breath speaking in a whisper
as the night follows day you reveal your self flawless is the transition from light to darkness you are the
sum total of many voices in diversity much is added the common theme harmoninous interchange
where there is lack then you add the needed part without fanfare this is what makes value as golden
moments increase significance the volume of spirit pours in and the soul rises out of view submerged
ideas latent with good will tells the story in deeper depths where shallow and empty realities find
a residing place now they are displaced as added instruments inrich musical pieces giving more depth
and feeling the empty darkness catches these delightful strains a soothing wave seems to fill the broken
spaces moonlight medicates with a silver substance brings euphoric doses as if disimbodied goodness
waves a magic wand you rise and drift on unseen wings a playfulness enters the heart you know not
from where but from borders of tranquil regions the flow emblematic dreams stream ubidden into the
mind the glory yet tasted is somehow permeating our stiff halted lives freedom brought from
inexaustable climes measureless helps will be as the tide if we will close ourselves from distractions that
are plentiful and short circuit our whole beings be still and know That I am God the human cry is what
shall I do in those golden yesterdays they put out rain barrels when they wanted soft water how much
more should we be catching the soft water falling from heaven to counteract the hard and at times
brutal actions that we unleash on one another tears and weeping are not unmanly they are the secret
guides that allow us to behold ourselves and then with power that restrains outward mindless acts that
hurt and offend gentle sense created by comfort from an indisputable place of well being you hold the
higher ground your decisions are true and correct and from placid to unerring truth you divide and map
a true and correct path

Sometimes I don't belong.
"10 things all women do",
screams the headline
Not me, I think, scrolling along.
"every man should try this", demands the caption.
And I just sit here thinking, not for me.
Do they even understand a fraction
Of what it's like to be
Here, in the middle, in between?
"just another queer millenial"
Is that what they see?
Can it really be that they reduce me
To that? Because I know
That I am so much more
But still, this is a blow
That strikes hard
And it hurts.
Am I allowed to cry?
Under which of society's odd rules should I
Handle my feelings about this?
Because men, as it is,
Are unmanly when they let tears flow.
Women, however, are expected to do so.
Now what do I do?
I could lose myself in thinking this through
Over and over again.
My circling thoughts never come to a halt.
There's just this one thing I know:
It is not my fault
That I can't seem to fit in.
That's the way it has always been.
One gets used to it, you know?
Just keep fighting and grow
up to be who you want to be.

Reflections
I lie placid silent and calm your great winsomeness reaches over me not disturbing in the least you add a
texture that is signature peace when caos ripples in the wider waters I know soft shadows speaking
revealing a clarity upon this mirrored glass of my soul you are as light as a breath speaking in a whisper
as the night follows day you reveal your self flawless is the transition from light to darkness you are the
sum total of many voices in diversity much is added the common theme harmoninous interchange
where there is lack then you add the needed part without fanfare this is what makes value as golden
moments increase significance the volume of spirit pours in and the soul rises out of view submerged
ideas latent with good will tells the story in deeper depths where shallow and empty realities find
a residing place now they are displaced as added instruments inrich musical pieces giving more depth
and feeling the empty darkness catches these delightful strains a soothing wave seems to fill the broken
spaces moonlight medicates with a silver substance brings euphoric doses as if disimbodied goodness
waves a magic wand you rise and drift on unseen wings a playfulness enters the heart you know not
from where but from borders of tranquil regions the flow emblematic dreams stream ubidden into the
mind the glory yet tasted is somehow permeating our stiff halted lives freedom brought from
inexaustable climes measureless helps will be as the tide if we will close ourselves from distractions that
are plentiful and short circuit our whole beings be still and know That I am God the human cry is what
shall I do in those golden yesterdays they put out rain barrels when they wanted soft water how much
more should we be catching the soft water falling from heaven to counteract the hard and at times
brutal actions that we unleash on one another tears and weeping are not unmanly they are the secret
guides that allow us to behold ourselves and then with power that restrains outward mindless acts that
hurt and offend gentle sense created by comfort from an indisputable place of well being you hold the
higher ground your decisions are true and correct and from placid to unerring truth you divide and map
a true and correct path

Adam was sitting
in the blue recliner—
his eyes, glazed donuts
of dissatisfaction—he
held a beer in his hands,
and he wept.

Was your fall
cruelest to you,
because you knew
perfection and true
happiness—or am I
the worse off, because
I can’t know what to
aspire for—what to
want?

Your crying is
not unmanly—you
have seen your sons
**** each other—
witnessed hate in those
you raised with love.

And Eve, your
blessed Eve, she’s in
the kitchen with an
apron on—she doesn’t
smile at you the way
she used to anymore.

You can’t trust her
like you once did,
since ember innocence
died out, but you still
love her.

How it hurt you,
Adam, to witness
her anguish—first
in childbirth then
at child’s death—
Eve used to think
she was beautiful, but
now all she sees is
stretch marks and wrinkles.

Still, Eve is the
only one who
knows your pain
of loss—she comes
up to hold your hand,
and a tear leaves her
eye—she misses Eden
too.

bloodstains on my hands say
countless times have wounded her
yet she loves me to this day
weeps on my shoulder!*

You don't remind me woman
each time I stroke your hair
of the times I act a hurting man
of all the times I've been unfair.

Rather you hide all past scars
cover up my stinging bite
pretend things could be worse
thank god it turned all right.

You don't remind me woman
when I hug you tight
of the times I act a hurting man
bare to you unmanly might.

Rather you hide the flicker of pain
smile away my sins of past
pretend things would be same again
thank god in me you trust.

I just put new contacts in so it makes it look like i was crying but i swear its just the contacts. i don't even like crying anyways, and its not that its unmanly cause thats ******* ******* I've seen some of the toughest moherfuckers in the world break down and sob so if you say its not okay for guys to go **** yourself with a cactus because thats like saying its not okay to express feelings and emotions and i used to think that and i know how wrong i was. But besides all that crying *****. like really it is worse than stubbing your toe and splitting the toenail. id much rather be happy and smiling but hey life is life and i cant change how others react and that doesnt make sense im sorry. goodbye thanks to anyone who actually read this.

Helpless of finding you again, you have fallen. Fallen into the deep mist of her. Your eyes so taken under the spell that I once gave you. You fall every season for another. I'm disgusted I thought you were stronger than that. I see you weak and uncertain . A man I used to admire I now pitty. I was so blind. You were not the person I thought you were. And what's so interesting is that I didnt start to grow discusted by your infidelity but by how you can't bare the thought of being independent, you can't bare the thought of being alone, you rely on company. And at that moment I realized that we definitely wasn't meant to be.

Home sweet home.
We often have heard.
Like, home is where the heart is?
Which many has proclaimed.

As a child we might not comprehend this.
But as you get older.
These are the memories you miss.
As a child.
You remember your little tricks.
Which couldn't fool mom or da.
Because they were ahead of the game.

We all have heard from them.
Been there.
Done that.
Still we try again.

Oh, yes.
Home is where the heart is.
Even with a pup.
Who reminds you of many kids?
They play themselves out.
Only to fall asleep.

Just kissing your mom.
This affection last forever.
We sometimes grow older.
And have to think should we kiss dad.

Many think its unmanly.
But playing sports or even fishing too.
Or anything special of interest.
Leaves a strong impression to you..

It might be his colgne.
And with mom her perfume.
These are happy memories.
That stays forever with you.
Cause, home is where is your heart is.

Recollection for some.
Brings on sad memories.
Except in my case.
Mine has been good to me.

Like their pretense that Santa's came.
And they played alone.
Adults sometimes realize.
We spot check this one day.
When we catch them setting up many things.

Rushing us to sleep.
Gets them caught more.
Because many of us are sneaky enough.
To be the assistant to Detective Columbo.

Still, home is where your heart is.
And all my memories will forever be apart of me.

Rising up for church.
When dad refused to go.
That was just one thing.
That dad didn't play along.
It was bad enough that he didn't attend.

I guess to keep mom calm.
Dad knew when to step in.
Soon, I was dressed up.
To attend any church event.

And when you think about it.
There's nothing wrong with worshipping Jesus.
Which stays apart of you for life.

Just like being a child praying upon you knees at night.

One in eight boys will be sexually assaulted this year
One in eight of our brothers, coworkers, fathers, boyfriends
One in eight will be told "men don't get *****"
One in eight will be feel their masculinity being stripped from them
One in eight feel as attached to it as their muscle is to bone
One in eight never expected this to happen
One in eight will unjustly be told to question their sexuality
One in eight will hold it against themselves
Their shame is a blanket
One in eight are told they are defenseless
Eight in eight have experienced overly sexualized culture
In which they are told they must be strong, bold, *****
All the time
Eight in eight are told lies about their own bodies
About their own minds
Eight in eight are expected by the media
To be promiscuous and want *** all the time
So when that one in eight experiences unwanted touching, kissing, fill in the blank
They feel weak
They feel defenseless
They feel "unmanly"
To my brothers who have been sexually assaulted
You are not weak
You are not merely a statistic
And you are not alone.

I awkwardly said,
I want to share my poems aloud,
At this place, underground.
I'd like it if you came.

No reply.

I anxiously mentioned,
Some of them will have you in them,
I'd like it if you came and heard,
What I had to say.

No reply.

A few days later, you talk to me, randomly.
I mention I want to see you.
I've had a bad day.

What's been bad, you say?

My job isn't working out and
my car situation is all ****** up,
and my family is ****** up too.

You don't have your car anymore?

No, family needed it more than I.
And I want to save some down before I get mine.
I say.
Emptily. Thinking. No big deal.
This is smart. This is what people do.

But you never replied.
Not once when I needed you the most.

Looking back I'm frustrated.
I cared an awful lot.
And because I did I shared myself instead of
Partaking in you. And I think at a point it became so...
needy. So frustrating. So unmanly in your eyes, that
combined with some ****** dysfunction,
we just died on the vine. Black, withered, and disgusting.
So even though we remembered being green it just,
could not go back that way. And the irony was if I had
just ever figured out how to be nonchalant,
and not care so ever ******* much,
then, chances are, you'd have been my lady.
Life is weird. People... relationships... I don't know.
It's a cruel joke sometimes. Ain't a poem for you anymore.
You never really wanted.... that. I don't know what you want but,
It isn't me. Not anymore.

My sister said, **** that *****.
I smiled wryly and thought,
Once, but nevermore.

I think in the dark times of the night.
Even when the sky is bright,
Perhaps in a few years, when we are older...
I think with fear of a primal sort.
I have a girl that I love,
who I adore, and who doesn't necessarily mistreat me,
who keeps me though I'm an *******, and will take me
rich or poor but...
If you ever became someone who would come
and listen to my poetry
and hear what I have to say to you,
and cared, a little bit, sincerely,
and ever found me in your heart, truly, again...
What would I do?
I don't know but disgustingly,
I may always love you.

Yes, I was there
Because like many of you
I have been there
Charging into shot and shell
The stench of blood and **** permeates the air
Do you really think death is so quick and clean?
No,  no , hold your mate while he's crying for his mum
Pick up the mangled guts while you tell him it's OK
Yes. Cry for him today for its not an unmanly thing to cry
For when tomorrows battle joins
It might be my time to die