I think of it as coming
back to myself,
like a second cousin
visiting from the states
As if I'm waiting in
the airport terminal,
hands full of sweat
and a note stapled to my chest
I can't remember when
I first became a space to  be filled,
an empty vessel floating
in between the veil
But I'm starting to feel
like more of a splutter
than a storm,
and it's moments like
this that make me think God
is just ******** irresponsible
I find myself digging
for my sense of wonder
at the bottom of my music box,
like the folded ears
of a saxophone player,
sitting across the bar
As if I'll slide my hands
across the slime of my exterior,
slip back into my identity
like an old coat
While I  tumble into the
empty bellyed passion
of a man with small hands
and an inability to say my name,
hoping I'll come across
my purpose for life
while drenched in his ***

**** me

all i ever do is run from myself

all i

do is done in pursuit of bad health

drain the well

dump me down

if you won't

then i will

trust fall into

the hungry depths

all i

do is done in pursuit of bad health

at the tragic end the sadness is

that despite outside approval

i never knew

to approve

of myself

ain't it easy to do?
I know I do it too
the man with the contained smile
laughs
trapped bubbles surface the air as he
mocks the women on stage for calling themselves wildfires
as he sanctimoniously recites Dead Poets Society
seize the day, grab it by the throat and swallow it
drink the Latin into oblivion
hand reaching, stumbling, stalling, stop
I can’t go further
I weep eggshells for you to step on
The truth leaves residue like the
masochistic taste ******* leaves in your brain for days
trampled flowers left in a cackle
they’re right,
I don’t want to be a candlestick
the match is not needed because I’m not a ******* flame
There’s no use in burning
when will you understand?
just because the road is paved with knives
will not make your pain more tolerable
there could be a forest inferno in that chest of yours
for years, you could let it wallow and simmer
just to feel warm
but nothing will continue to grow
your angry resilience will be just that
angry
there’s a blaze of fury that you can start
a healing for those third degree burns
you so desperately cling to
because it’s better to be damaged goods than
fragile, vulnerable, a sensitive nerve
and I understand
but bathe in your own tears for a while
listen to the trickling of water from a bathtub call your name
kiss the rivers you know are capable of growing in you
flirt with the oceans that have missed your company
revel in the fact that you can be
delicate and equally dangerous
drink your water and know
that the poison will drain
and that the calm was meant to
hold you not rob you

isn't it wonderful
how the word 'sorry'
could mend broken hearts
heal wounds
and stop wars?

if only we've had the courage
to say that word
when it was most needed
to be heard