Over the past seven months,
you've taught me to be selfless --
That I should value other's needs and feelings over my own.
Who better to practice it on than you?
Your happiness and your well being are far more important than mine.
After all...
How could I be happy if you aren't?
How could I be "fine" if you aren't?
There is nothing I wouldn't do to make you
a
better
*you.

Sometimes
You let your walls crumble
And your age-old
Soul
Is let out of it's confinement

In my dreams,
I write poetry on her skin.
The pen moves gently and with compassion.
Words of love join hands,
waltzing across
her collarbones
   her waist
      her hips
covering her entirely.
I take my time, marking her arms with lyrics of adoration to cover
scars of self hatred.
"You are so beautiful."
She cries.
"This is beautiful."
I smile.
*"Oh, my love... the best have yet to be written."

I am moving with the wind
at a pace you cannot keep up with.
Sailing free, no holding back now.
I'm soaring,
high above the clouds and earth and destruction of the heart.
I'm escaping on these wings
and there is nothing you can do
to hold my feet against the ground...
I am flying
higher and higher and higher.

Every morning,
I awake with
your name
on my lips.

I dreamt of you again last night
God, just leave me be
You had no privelege, no right
I don't want to see
Walking in, oh, what a sight
Please, don't make me plea
These nightmares  become trite
*But remember... You no longer own me

I weep
because your love
overwhelms me
and
I cannot contain
the feelings
that pour out of
my open heart.

Reaching over
and not feeling your warmth
beneath my hand
is the epitome of loneliness.

All at once, the thoughts come running back.
No, not just running...
Sprinting.
Their feet hit the track like a gavel hits the sound block.
Obstacles don't mean a thing -- puddles, hurdles, cracks in the tartan --
They don't stand a chance.
There's no stopping them.
They aren't sprinting a hundred meter.
They aren't sprinting a four hundred meter.
They are sprinting a ******* mile race.
Round and round they go, never stopping, not even bothering to pace.

If someone even dares to say your name around me,
only one word comes to mind.
It's the best word to describe you.
The basic definition?
Miserably inadequate.
Synonymous with your name.
I pity you.
Truly, I do.
I cannot imagine what it's like to not be able to help yourself.
Isn't that the goal of humans?
"Help yourself in order to help others."
But you can't.
How sad, how miserably inadequate.

If this summer was a movie,
it would be titled,
"The Summer I Gave My Heart Away"

...yes, appropriately titled.

The cast?
You and I.


The plot?
Simple, really.  

I pull my heart out of it's barb wired cage and throw it on a chopping block,  all the while shouting,
"Here, take it!"...
Yet internally whispering,
"Please, don't break it."

You hold the knife, ready to plunge and watch my life pour out.
But you don't.
You pick it up, open the cage, and gently return it home.
"I won't, I love you."

So that's how the story goes.

Roll camera...

Action!

It's been two days.
Two days and I've already gone mad without you.
I feel so alone, luv.
Every part of me misses you.
My heart aches at the thought of you, yet simultaneously warms.
My ears are finely tuned to your voice, if only I could hear it.  
My palms itch with an unfulfilled need to touch you -- your hand, your hair, your waist...

...I wonder if you miss me, too.

Every once in a blue moon, I have nightmares.
Usually reoccurring.
Usually confusing.
Especially terrifying.
But tonight's was -- by far --
the worst.

I had you.
I had you in my arms and love was bright and I was yours.
You pulled away.
I let you go, thinking you didn't want me to hold you anymore.
You cried.
I questioned.
You held out your arms.
What I saw was something I hope to never see in reality -- your beautiful arms, a ****** mass of torn flesh and broken spirit.
I tried to heal them with bandages, tape, and my love... but they bled on.
You bled out.
And I bled tears.

The only thing on my mind was you when I awoke.

It's funny that I worry about things like that.
I worry that you're slipping through my ice cold fingers and there is nothing for me to grasp...
But then I remember how quickly you changed my life and my heart.
I learned to love again.
And with that love, I will hold onto you.
Hopefully, you won't pull away.

At school
    This relationship is one to keep secret when you attend a catholic school. Two women (or men) aren't supposed to be together... but we're together. She's made me smile and cry and love like I never have before. People at school started to notice -- they started saying that I was a lesbian. When someone first told me that, I laughed. Laughed. Why were people spreading rumors like that? About me, a nobody? But then I realized that I can't always cover my heart with a sweater bearing the school crest. My heart is open, bleeding and spilling blood down my sleeve. It blends in with the crimson material. People are not blind.

2. Around our friends
     We didn't keep it a secret for long. I told my two best friends because I knew they'd accept me, no matter who I'm with. I was right. They welcomed our relationship with open arms. It was easier to love her then. We could hold hands and gaze at each other openly. With them, it feels like I'm home.

3. Around my family
     My family is tricky. My mom is accepting of gay men, lesbians, bisexuals, transgenders...  
But I wonder if she's accept me.
     My dad is a homophobe. If you're gay, stay away! The stubborn man wouldn't even touch you with a stick... But what would he think if it were me?
     My brother is ok.
     My sister is... indecisive towards us, After all, I'm in love with her best friend. And I didn't even get to tell her myself.
     Hiding it amongst my family members has become rather difficult. Not being able to hold her hand is a stab to my heart. Not being able to flaunt her everything to them is maddening...
"Leigh, how do you not have a boyfriend?"
"Well um er..."
Do they notice the way I act around her?

4. Around her family
    The most difficult task of all. They're so unaccepting of who she really is, that she hides herself away. It pains me to see the hurt in her eyes when they poke fun at gay people. I've seen it happen. Anger wells up in my chest and fills a cavity long forgotten. I long to scream "Look. Your daughter/sister/aunt/cousin's heart currently belongs to me. Yeah, me. Another girl."
I wonder what they'd say to that.

5. In public
     Today, you never know what a person's views on homosexuals are. They could be completely disgusted or humbly accepting. You just don't know. So I (we) have to be especially careful. Someone could explode on us, saying that two women loving each other is wrong or sinful or damning. I'm afraid of that. She closes up when I don't hold her hand or reciprocate her advances in public... I'm just afraid. Sometimes I'll face my fears and I'll grab her hand. Other times, I'll sneak a kiss. Most of the time, I steal a glance and then cannot tear my eyes from her beauty. Do people see the love we have for each other? Do they understand? Do they accept? Do they believe that all love is beautiful? Probably not... But I'll love her anyway.

For so long, I wanted to die.
Now I'm not ready --
*I've just begun living.

Look into the mirror with me.

You see that girl?

No, not me, luv.
Look at yourself, for once?

Yes, that girl.

I love that girl.

I love everything about her.

Her body.
Her mind.
Her soul -- a touch of youth, but old at heart.

The way she talks.
The way she walks.
The way she breathes -- deeply at first, but softly as she sleeps on.

The way she writes.
The way she draws.
The way she creates -- with passion, but with a calmness unlike her.

But most of all,
I love the way she loves me.

I love the way she holds my hand.
I love the way she kisses my lips.
I love the way she loves -- cautiously as if I'll break, but then unbridled when she sees that I won't.

She holds my heart in her outstretched hands...
And I won't try to take it back.

Pills and I don't get along.
Yes, there's a reason.
Yes, it's a good reason.
No, I won't swallow.

I don't understand it.
I am not a anxious person.
But lately, I've been catching myself on the edge of a break down --
not necessarily a destructive breakdown,
more like a breakdown of happiness.
Thinking about how much I love her...
It's almost pathetic.
Wanting her in my arms holds a physical ache.
Thoughts of her have formed an almost meditative mantra.
Her presence calms my mind like the shoreline does the sea.
Revelation.*
She's become my anchor.

I may have switched gears,

left and down
lust
right and up
love

but trust me,
love was all I was feeling.

Make love* is such an odd term for ***.
Why romanticize something that's already romantic?
Beautiful in itself?
If someone asked if I was a ******, I'd say,
"No, I make love everyday."
Because I do.
Making love isn't ***.
Not to me, anyway.
Making love is defined in everyday actions.
A simple "I love you".
Or another "You are so beautiful".
Even something like "I appreciate you".
Making love is spreading love.
To some, it may sound... creepy.
To others, it may make sense.
I hope it makes sense.

Explaining my life as a soldier can be summed up simply:
Covered in lice, starving for nourishment, and paralyzed by fear.
I have seen the dark side of this war from my position.
Life in the trenches...
It's a cycle.
A spell in the front line
A stint in the support lines
A period in reserve
It is a living hell.
Death is imminent --  
Death by enemy shelling.
Death by ******.
Or death by disease.
It hangs over our heads like clouds over the sun.
It is everywhere.
In the smell of rotting flesh, overflowing latrines.
The stench of humanity.
And the smell of battle
We know it's coming.
The question is...
When?
When will I feel my own blood on my hands?
When will I see the face of God?
When will I feel no pain?

I can't promise you tomorrow,
but I can promise today.

Sometimes I think of your smile
and the way it would slowly spread
across your tanned face.

Sometimes I think of your laugh
and the way it would caress my ears
in the loveliest of ways.

Sometimes I just think about you
and the way you were almost mine
on that sunny day last summer.

Who do I cry for anymore?
Myself or lack thereof?

Sleeping next to you
was an
unattainable dream
come true...

I dreamt of sunshine
But was struck by the darkness I saw
Your empowering spirit was present
Encompassing my mind --
I searched for your body
And found you in a field
You were kissing the white flowers that bloomed  
In the rays of your inner light --
I froze in the spot I held
Deep in awe by the sight of you
You turned and caught my eyes with yours
Sunlight blinded me no more.

I'm sick of having to defend my feelings.
You make me feel like **** for having someone I can call mine, for loving her.
It's because she's a girl.
It's because she's your best friend.
NEWSFLASH.
She's my best friend, too.
We can have the same friends.
You're just like mom -- believing that anything not like you is odd.
You don't have romantic feelings for a girl, so it's ******* sick to you.
I heard you telling our cousin what you thought about us.
You think it's wrong.
You think it's "weird".
You think it's disgusting.
Well, it isn't.
It's beautiful beyond recognition.
Such beauty could blind a person.
But you don't understand that.
You don't want to.
So you blink, hoping it will disappear.

"Homosexuality is a sin."
Why?
Why?!
To love is to sin?
"God so loved the world that..."
No.
Why can God love yet we cannot?
It's the same, is it not?
A man loves a man.
A woman loves a woman.
Isn't that the same love that binds a "holy" marriage, man with woman?
Isn't that the same love that binds the covenants, between God and Man?
If this God is just, does He not love all?
According to the Church, He loves those who don't even believe in His holy name.
Does God love the man who not only loves Him, but also loves another man?
Does He still love then?

My eyes follow like slaves forced to follow their master.

"God is love."
Is He?
Because according to God,
the love I feel is a sin.
It's wrong to feel so loved.
Is God love when I write love poems for another woman?
When she holds my hand,
is He love then?
An understanding God accepts all love.
Is God love?