I wear my scars with pride.
Except when I don’t.
In those moments,
I am my tattoos and my reason
And the false dichotomy of my being.

The pain of those past events.
Erased.
Or at least hidden from you.
Because you don’t know me.
And I don’t know enough about you to know if you’re safe.

But once we get rolling
My pride,
My ******* pride
Has me spilling my life all over this conversation.
Look at my scars!
I made it through.
Aren’t you impressed?

But as a young Stephen Crane would have said,
“Ah, I think there were braver deeds.”

I can’t stand you.
I just want to
Reprimand you.
I just want to
******* brand you.

You must hate me.
You just want to
Denigrate me.
I want you to
Masticate me.

The smile that lingers on your lips,
The back and forth sway of your hips,
Your skin beneath my fingertips.

Promises of sleepless nights,
Melodies and dimming lights,
I've got you within my sights.

Tomorrow brings another day,
All I want is for you to stay,
For one more hour is all I pray.

Our paths run parallel but never touch,
Sharing thoughts and skin and such,
I only hope it's not too much.

Manual stimulation for my electrified mind,
Proper ventilation cools down my insides.
To call it ******* would deny its true nature,
You can't rub it out if it's only on paper.

As the sun rises
Unbidden thoughts of you appear.
Swept up in the revelry
I forget that you aren't real.

I mean,
You're real enough.
You're made of organic matter.
You have a heartbeat and consciousness.
But you're still not really real.

You're an idea,
Or an ideal, as it were.
You're the best and worst of me.
And I love and hate you for it.
You complete and destroy me.

So when those unbidden thoughts
Rise with the morning sun,
I can feel my atoms separating
My very bond with the universe weakening,
And in a moment, if I don't reign in my mind,

I'll
Be
Gone.

Under my skin, you've been.
Driving me crazy with thoughts of hot nights.
Sweating, wordless moments.
A giggle and a moan.
Fingertips sliding gracefully down the length of your spine.
Your breath on my face, fast and throaty.
These thoughts invading my day.
Forcing me to seek refuge in work.
My body a slave to my overactive imagination.
It's your fault, really.

An island.
Sometimes.
That's me.
An island.
Surrounded by the bitter thoughts and openly hostile fears of those that don't
Understand.

So when I tell you,
"This is me."
I'm not asking for:
Permission
Judgment
Scorn
Doubt
or
Rage
I'm asking for:
Patience
Concern
Love
Friendship
And a familiar ear to voice my own fear.

Kermit the Frog once said,
"It's not easy being green."
Well Kermit, I finally think I know what you mean.

Uncommon is not as welcome as it would seem.