Maybe I am ugly,
It’s a fair point.

I’m not nearly as handsome,
After giving up the ghost on my hair,
After years of abuse to my joints,
The combat sports and bruises,
Broken bones, contusions.
Scars and reconstructions.

Maybe I’m not a particularly pretty packaged cup of tea,
But I’m plenty strong,
Built ford tough and could run through you Like a Ram.
I’m olive toned marble
With a slick tongue.

I am endowed in ways Aphrodite blushes
And taught just as well how to wield its power
I need not look like vin diesel
To know that I am furious and rarely fast.

I’m not an ogre
Or an incel
Ungrateful for life
Or stuck inside my own shell,
I’m half Sicilian and proud,
Part Mexican with a dah of Irish,
Green eyed, and hot tempered
Black belt, and fists of fury
Gun lover , and whiskey shooter.

I’m an artist,
Photographer for funsies
Love to camp, hike weekly
And I earn plenty of monies,
Clicking on a keyboard,
Penetrating weaknesses ,
Like chess boards
While coaching my underlings
New pawns I push forward.

So yeah,
Maybe I’m ugly,
But what I have in spades
Is the fact that when you call my name
It’s a statement of fact
I’m more man than most claim to be,
And I don’t try to dominate
It’s what’s bred within me

I can't close my eyes
tears gather.
I can't breathe
the air is stuck.
I can't gulp
my throat is tight.

I try to plant my dream,
but land is
barren

Still, I try.
Even my conscience
mocks me.

Fully cooked batter,
Sprinkle of half-baked sighs.
A recipe of truth —
Never a lie.

Throw out the salt;
Add aged cheese,
A dollop of sugar,
A dash of chilies.

Don’t mention the sweat,
Nor the quiet cries.
Because
It’s the recipe of truth —
Never a lie.

Serve the truth,
Or leave it dry.
Maybe a pinch of water,
But never a lie.

It’s easy to pretend your not lonely
You tell yourself your just
alone wolf amongst the pack
But wolves are only alone when they have lost their love.
Like the ocean stumbling onto the beach
Love came
It came many times
But love was hollow
Friendships
You tend to keep at arms length
All but a few are allowed to see beneath your mask.
Oh how tiring life is
When there is no one to watch the sunset with …

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate,
I already pulled at my hair.
“It’s normal” he says
I swear just to debate,
cause he doesn’t seem to care.

And I’m bleeding through
my scar tissued skin,
the layers only grew
still I find a way in.

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate,
I’ll be down to the last strand.
Check or fold the plays,
the cards aren’t that great
I’ll be down the my last hand.

And I’m bleeding through
my thick nice sweater.
It’s a shame as it’s new
and we’re reaching the cold weather.
It will stain the soft fabric
I may just grab the bleach,
but I always made it a habit
to always keep it just out of reach.

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate
pretty soon I’ll be bald.
On hot coals she stays,
though she shifts her weight
and watches her soles scald.

And I’m bleeding through
my clogged and blocked pores,
and the remaining few
are becoming septic sores.
I’ll shed another layer
of a non-protective bubble,
and my hair will continue to get greyer,
I think I’m now in some trouble.