addictive woes make these little flows
worthless and mirthfull
like little peices of night falling in to crush
a star
magnified before it flashes out
Little tears as years pass
passing passing like waves
and the last breath I take will be there
the smell of salt sea
refreshing, remembering
the Sanctity of Me.

When I write I remember myself
I make words out of thoughts and memories
In My Head. 
In My head all the time feeling thinking
Oh how I miss that.  those things too rich for any dictionary to express
The loneliness temporarily disentangled from my world
And I love you for sleeping next to me and just sleeping
The rest I needed,
the joy seeded, growing, rebirth in that space near you.

Its not love, but something similar
knowing there will be someone
to see me wake
to feel me wake
My life witnessed by a stranger.

I am here laid out and dissected the way that I would prefer to be. 
With special attention to the minuit details of the body in question,
and the heart inside. 
I am here judged, and weighed out on the measure by Justice (my Lady)
and still, without sense to myself,
 I am loved.

Here is my ugliness, my selfishness, my self-righteous anger.
Here is my guile, my bile, my thumbprint in the records of the masses.
How can it ever be...This....way?

Do I not love myself because I am down?  Do I not love myself because I make my own excuses?  I have drawn myself to this place of dependence, and yet I pride my self of detachment.Oh dreadful contradictions. 

I see myself in a mirror that is much prettier than my own, much kinder, much more forgiving.

No, in my mirror, I see sharp lines, and tough angles, I see immobility and the cold's long lasting effect.  I see how I cannot fathom the kindness of another offered without obligation, and yet I expect such kindness and repel those who I do not percieve it in. 

I see my intolerance, my lack of forgiveness and my prejudice.  I see my fears, and how things that I have caused have made me....unreachable. 

And I see how I have created the circumstances of my preferences.  I understand how I am  attracted, when I am attracted, and many such grievances....

And I look in your mirror, which is directed at me, at this object that is so loathsome to my own eyes, and I see.....I see me through your eyes. 

I see me through your beautiful, forgiving, loving eyes...

and I cant help but be influenced by your opinion, because I hold your reguard as more valuable than my own.  And I can't help but respond to your love, by becoming, perhaps transforming, into what you are showing me, and by what I see

In You.

I wonder if you could feel
my shoulders shudder
not long after
you placed your hand on me

I wonder if you could hear
my inability
to suppress
the tiniest of sobs

I dont know how to describe how I felt
when you placed your hand so absently on me
For a second perhaps before you realized
that tiny little sparkle of energy
I had unknowingly drawn from you

We who are so singular,
who never touch
who talk so seldom
about the most important things we can
for who knows when we will speak again.

But your hand on my shoulder
moved me
probably unbeknownst to you
to silent tears of relief
that I exist to you
in some space of dreams.

And I wonder if you trust me the way that I trust you. 
I wonder if you know you can depend on me
the way I have depended on you
I wonder if you know you encompass what I believe
a man should be.

And perhaps we will drift apart after I leave
and be less than we were or could be
but I will always have room for you at my table