1.  I am grateful for having the freedom to share my thoughts freely without censorship.

2. Grateful for my wife and our daughter growing inside of her.

3.  I am grateful for something greater than me keeping me alive multiple times, when I tried to take my life multiple times in a dark period that almost lasted a decade.  

4.  I am grateful today that I can start the day free and at peace with my life, and not drown out the voices with substances or compulsive behavior.

5.  I am thankful I can breathe, and be in touch with my heart.

6.  I am grateful for Hello Poetry , my online community of poets that I can share my experiences and learn from others to continue living with hope.

His tan skin and manly hands
that I want to touch
His deep voice and dark eyes
that I can't get enough
His bright smile
that can light up my day
He's the man I love
I'll cherish all of my night and day

I'm in love with a lesbian;
I love when she laughs.
I'm in love with a straight man.
I'm in love with a ***.
I'm in love with a totally pretentious ***;
always self-flattering - I love how he brags.
I'm in love with a shy girl who hardly says a thing.
Quiet as a mouse,
but oh when she sings!
I'm in love with a dancer whose movements are poetry.
I'm in love with an artist who's modestly vain.
I am completely in love with a rationalist
if only because he's clearly insane.
I'm in love with a girl who's crazy about God.
I'm in love with another who spoils her dog.
I'm in love with the world when it's not bearing down on me.
Love as far as the eye can see.
I am in love with myself -
it feels good and true,
but more than anyone,
I'm in love with you!

I think I'm allergic to eating..

       I wake up the next day to soft blue blotches on my thighs
       And angry red lines on my hip.

I guess you could call it poetic how by the age of 12 I had no recollection of what happiness tasted like on my tongue. Some would say it was tragically beautiful.
But it was not poetic, nor was it beautiful,  but it was tragic. It was so very, very sad, and that sadness is only doubled now that people see sorrow as glorious.  It is not glorious. It is not strength. It is a lump of iron in your chest and stomach and it eats you from the inside, out and you have no right to think that blood stained wrists are anything other than tragic. So very,  very tragic.