I am who I am
I'm not who I was
I'm not my regrets
I'm almost __ .

Rough Diamonds
Night Clubs
Broken Hearts
In Spades

I'm younger than I feel
But older than I look
What You See Is What You Get
But net of the toll life took

Make yourself a list.
A list that is useful to you
and meaningful to you.

It need not be useful to others.
It need not be meaningful to others.
But it should be for you.

It need not be listed
numerically, chronologically
or in order of priority.

Marks will be awarded for
originality, banality, legibility
and indecipherability.

Marks will be deducted for
profanities.

It should be on my desk
by the end of school
on Friday.

I wouldn’t call us friends
but we’re close, intimate even -
they’ve known me longer,
know me better than anyone.

They read me, clearly see
the full back-catalogue of me,
understand me, often better than me
and they know just how to wound me,
seam doubt in me, refusing a stitch of mercy.

Sometimes I think them merciless,
sometimes merely vindictively honest,
but I cannot deny their knowledge,
their perceptiveness.

Nevertheless, there are essentials
that their words do lack
- imagination
- hope
- kindness
and the one furthest from their grasp
- forgiveness.

And so, I pay greater heed
to the friend whose words brim with love,
whose knowledge of me is greater,
whose patience is longer, and who sees
who I am in Him
- forgiven.

There’s a God who enflames.
He puts fire in the head
and though I have run, the wind
has never extinguished the flames,
though I have swum, the depths
have never doused them,
though I have sung long,
the music has never drowned them out.

So I have sat and I stilled
and as the flames settled
I found they were a gift, a friend,
and that this friendship warmed me.
And we ate and storied
our way through the nights.

And the flames took hold
as intended.

Like a Yew tree
in its fifth century.
Like a June Beetle
in its fifth month,
burying its eggs in the soil.
I pay little heed
I give no value
to the boasts of kings.