Bury my Heart

Bury my heart
For the love has ceased to grow
Lay it to rest
Lest it become stone

Bury my heart
Before its time
Exsanguination slow and painful
Yet merciful expiration

Bury my heart
After its prime
Tried and failed to blossom
Beneath the salt in this wound

Bury my heart
Beneath the curse of love's eyes
Tame the quiet hope
Let it become stone.

The Fifth Dimension

-1-

The cold December air whipped around his head and John Jacobson instinctively pulled the collar of his black petticoat more tightly around his neck. The action was truly reflexive as he didn't feel the cold. The only sign that he was even aware of the cold, either physically or consciously, were his eyes that were tightly squinted against the wind, and his ears that shone a bright, painful red. The wind whipped around him again and again in a whirlwind of Oz proportions. Yet, he didn't deviate in the slightest from his path. Both his pace and speed remained constant. Passers by, had there been any, would not have believed a man capable of such a gait in the inclement conditions. For his part, John's pace spoke of determination. In due course, he arrived at his destination and he stopped, staring for a moment. The events of the last few days of his life played over and over in his heart (his mind seemed to have lost all interest in what was going to happen, and had decided to keep its distance) and he became unerringly convinced that the next moments of his life would be his last, best decision. With a deep breath, he stepped to the edge of the bridge on which he'd stood and looked down. Vertigo gripped him and a small voice that he'd dubbed "survival instinct" spoke to him and he immediately took a step backward.

"What are you doing, son?" came a voice.

"Me?" he asked dumbly, never looking at the source of the voice.

"I don't see no one else walkin' up the edge of the Direwater Ravine bridge and then backin' off like some kinda fool."

"Right," he laughed,
"Fool."

"Son, don't you know you just backpedaled into four lanes of highway traffic?" the voice said again.

He hadn't noticed. In fact, he was standing in the middle of those four lanes, somehow unaware of the cars that sped past him on either side, of their horns blaring in protest of his stupidity. He silently, quickly sped back to the bridge's edge, where an old, grizzled man awaited. A sheen of sweat glistening on his dark skin.

"Thanks," he said numbly, holding out his right hand,
"I'm John. John Jacobson."

"I know," the man said, taking the offered hand.
"I'm Jacob. Jacob Johnson." he matched John's cadence exactly, and John wasn't entirely sure he wasn't being mocked.

"What do you mean, 'you know'?"

"What do you mean, 'what do I mean'? I mean I know. I know who you are and I know what you're doin' here and I know you ain't gonna do it." he punctuated the last four words with a finger poke to John's chest.

"How-"

"Ain't got time for 'how'. Just come with me, and we'll get you all sorted."

With that, Jacob didn't say another word. He just grabbed John by the arm and put him in the passenger seat of a truck that had appeared as if from nowhere. John knew he should be feeling nervous, or at the very least he should be worried for his safety, traveling to an unknown destination with a man he'd only just met. There was something about the grizzled man, however, that John just couldn't put his finger on. Besides, he must be in his seventies at least; hardly a threat.

"Seventy-five." Jacob said.

"Pardon?' John replied.

"I'm seventy-five years old. You got nothin' to worry about son, I just needed you off that bridge. You're acting like a damn fool."

"Well, yeah, I admit the bridge was a bit stupid, being that I'm scared of heights." John said, his voice betraying none of the seriousness that he felt.

"So is the rope, and so is the poison, or the alcohol, or the pills and we both know you don't have a gun."

John was getting agitated at the way Jacob seemed to be in his head.

"Who do you think you are?" he asked.

"I've been where you are, son." his voice took on a serious quality.
"That place where it seems like your entire life is one big pile of shit that just keeps getting bigger. The place where you start thinking no life is better than bad life. Where alone is better than together and where love can't save you anymore. I've been there."

"Spare me the 'it gets better' speech. I'm too old for fairy tales." John spat, suddenly feeling about Jacob the way he would feel about a televangelist or Jehovah's Witness that came trying to save his soul.

The old man just laughed. He laughed heartily and from his belly, a raspy sound that gave way to a cough.

"That's rich! 'It gets better' he says! Oh my! What a good one!"

John looked out of the corner of his eye, confused.

"Nothing gets better, son! This is exactly the way it's supposed to be! That's what I'm here to tell you!"

"Okay . . . " John said, suddenly confused.

Looking out the window, he idly watched the snow flakes blow in the still whipping wind and wondered exactly where his life had led him this time. 

-2-

After a ride that seemed longer than it was, the truck came to a stop, and Jacob parked next to a meter in front of a Pawn Shop called "Jacobson's." Jacob got out of the truck without ceremony and came around to John's door and opened it before John had a chance to.  John stretched, and this time when he pulled his collar around his coat it was because he felt the sting of the wind after being in the relative warmth of the truck. 

"Home sweet home." Jacob said.

"Shouldn't it be called 'Johnson's Pawn Shop'?" John asked.

"Son, you ever tried to run a legitimate business with a name that's a euphemism for your pecker? It ain't possible in this day and age. You try typing 'Johnson' into the Internet. That's saying nothing of the perverts that just wander in thinking it's a front for a whorehouse or some kind of underground sex club. Still, takes all kinds." he said, shaking his head.

"They got the first part right." he said with a wink.

John couldn't resist, 

"It's a whorehouse?"

"It's a front." Jacob said, pulling the gate on the front back and motioning John into the shop.

Crossing the threshold, John instinctively began to breathe through his mouth. The air was stale, and the shop was dark and dusty. A cursory glance at the items for sale betrayed the fact that nothing had been bought or sold there in quite some time. He stopped before the jewelry counter, a lump forming in his throat and his breath coming in a sob. Before him was a necklace, made of ivory, with a Celtic pattern carved in its face and the whole thing inlaid into carved onyx. He knew it as well as he knew himself. What he didn't know was what it was doing here.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, only then aware that there were tears streaming down his face.

"Well, let me see, now . . . " Jacob said, moving to his sales register behind the counter.

"Oh yes, now I remember," he began.

"This piece came from a lovely young woman who brought it to me when she realized she hadn't returned it to her young man. She was quite despondent about it as I recall. She simply said 'Sell it to someone who is prepared to love big. As big as he did. That's my wish for him.' You want to buy that necklace, son?" 

"It's mine." John said quietly.

"That's where you're confused, son. It's not yours."

"It's mine." John insisted, thumping a fist lightly on the glass case.

"My mother brought it from Ireland and I gave it to her when we fell in love. I never wanted it back. Not because I was being mean but because, I knew she still loved me. I knew she'd want it to remember."

"She wanted to remember, that's for sure. But she didn't need no necklace to do it." Jacob said,

"Come on downstairs, we got to talk, son."

He led the way into a basement, that was only barely dustier than the storefront. John's chest had caved in once again, in a way that he had become all too familiar with throughout his life. He couldn't help but feel like there was a big revelation coming. Something life changing and meaningful. He'd had this feeling several times in his life, and the moment had always been fleeting, followed by emotional upheaval and turmoil. 

"Sit down, son. This is gonna take some tellin'." Jacob said.

John blindly sat, and stared blankly at the older man.

"Now, some of what's coming you ain't gonna believe. And some of it you ain't ready to hear. But the plain truth of it is, it's time for you to hear it because this is about more than just you."

"Okay." John said, quietly.

-3-

"This pawn shop is just a front like I said. It's something special for sure. I've had it for about fifty years or so and before that it was someone else's. He went by the name of Nicholas and when he found me, I was laying in the street. Literally laying in the street. See, I was tryin' to lay in traffic. Over a woman of course. I was lonesome and heartbroken and she'd just up and decided she didn't like things no more and I didn't see much reason in trying anything at all after that. Not even breathing in and out."

"I know the feeling." John said.

"I know that you do. And see that's just what you're doing here. See, a man came along and explained things to me just like I'm about to do for you. But before I do, how about you tell me why you were standing up there on that bridge?" 

John instantly became defensive.

"That's none of your business old man." he spat angrily.

"No, no. I suppose it isn't. But see, the thing is, you got to assume I already know and then I can tell you what you're doing here."

"If you already know then why am I telling you?" John said, still defensive.

"John, let me start at the end. This place is special. That necklace came to me from someone you know but it wasn't the person you think it was. These things in your life, they do happen for a reason, but it ain't the reason you think. And it sure as hell isn't going to stop anytime soon. Now all you got to do, son, is just accept it. Because I promise at the end of it you're going to appreciate things more. We all got our roles to play."

"Roles to play," John spat again. 

"You don't know what you're talking about old man. You think I asked for this? You think I asked for mental illness? Depression? You think I asked to be so unsure who I am? You think I wanted to get my heart broken again and again and again? Don't talk to me about roles to play."

"No. I don't suppose you did ask for all that. But what if I was to tell you there was a reason for it all. What if I could make it all okay? What if I could tell you a way to  keep your focus?"

"You can tell me anything you want, old man. That doesn't make it true, and it doesn't mean this is some kind of 'It's a Wonderful Life' moment."

"No. No, it's not like that. But, don't you want to know?"

"I want to know how you got my necklace."

"I told you that part. I'll tell you the rest if you tell me why you were up on that bridge."

"I wanted to jump, okay!" John shouted.

"I am so tired of getting my heart broken! Is that what you want to hear? I didn't see the point of living one more day in a world where she didn't love me anymore! Okay! Is that enough?"

"It was more than the heartbreak though, wasn't it?"

The intensity of his emotion spent, John now felt more in control.

"Yeah. It was more about the fact that this is always happening to me. I can't ever seem to catch a break. I was tired of feeling a big hole in my chest where my heart used to be. Like, I just keep trying and trying. I stay positive, do my best and it all still comes down to getting shit on, in a spectacular fashion." 

"Did you ever think there was a reason for it?" Jacob asked, suddenly intense.

"Poor choices. Genetics. Bad upbringing. A lack of guidance. That kind of stuff. That's what's always behind these things."

"It's far more than that." Jacob said

"When Nicholas found me laying in the street and he brought me here, I was a lot like you. I thought life was a curse. I thought I was always going to be unhappy."

"But it got better." John interrupted with an eye roll.

"No. It didn't. I'm every bit as miserable now as I was then." 

John blinked. This wasn't the response he'd expected.

"What?" 

"You heard me. I understand now. And soon, so will you. See, it's my time John. And now I have to tell you because that's how it works. Shit. I'm getting ahead of myself. Just sit back and listen."

John did as he was told.

"For you, it comes down to the necklace. That is the necklace you remember and it isn't. See this shop here, this is what you call a gateway. A gateway to the fifth dimension."

"The fifth dimension?"

"Yes. The fifth dimension. You already know the first four. Lenght, width, depth, and time. The Fifth dimension is reality itself. And it turns out that there is more than just this reality. See, the original owner of this place knew that and he built his shop here for a very specific purpose."

"What purpose is that?"

"I'll show you." Jacob said, standing.

-4-

"What is it?" John asked, standing in front of a wall. A plain brick wall.

"What am I supposed to see?"

Before their eyes, the wall coalesced into a jeweled portal. It shone with an eerie glow that reminded John of a television screen displaying white noise. Before he could ask what was happening an image began to form.

A sob caught in his throat as he saw her there, radiantly beautiful as she's always been. She wore a white dress and flowers in her hair and she gazed at him. Directly at him. He'd seen that look a million times and in this moment it was more than he could bear.

"You know her?"

"That's her. That's Sara." he said dumbly watching the scene play out.

She was standing with him now. They were outside but very clearly at an altar. They were getting married! He'd always wanted to marry her. And once upon a time she'd wanted to marry him too. Before it all had gone south. Before she'd decided she didn't love him anymore.

"What the hell is this?" he asked.

"Some kind of cruel joke?"

"This is no joke. This is what happened. This is her life with you."

John looked again and saw the two of them in their favorite park watching their children play. He sobbed openly as the scene dissolved and it seemed years had passed. The children were older and graduating from school. John could see the two of them there, still in love, and so proud of the young man that stood before them posing for pictures. The scene again dissolved and again it was years later. John saw himself as an older man, laying in his bed with his love next to him, holding his hand. She herself was older but still looked deeply into his eyes, longingly and lovingly. John watched the scene unfold and let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding; as the other version of himself quietly passed away.

"What the hell is this?" he asked.

"It's what makes this place special, son. What you're seeing is the life you and Sara had together."

"That can't be. She left me. We didn't work out. I mean, it was over. Wasn't it?"

"For you, yes. But not for them." Jacob nodded to the portal that had returned to a plain brick wall.

"You're saying that was me and her? In some kind of, what? A parallel world?"

"Now you're getting it."

"You're crazy, old man. I don't have time for this science fiction. I don't now how you did all this, but it's time for me to go."

"John, every choice that's made is played out somewhere in this great multiverse. Dozens upon dozens of versions of you and me that play out every choice ever made. What you just saw was a version of yourself that didn't make the same choices you did."

"Okay, say I believe you. What does this have to do with how my life is such a shithole?"

"That's the easiest and the best part. See, there's a version of all of us that exists just to carry the bad choices. The mistakes. We're the versions that make all the bad choices and live with the consequences. We do it so that they," he nooded at the wall again.

"Won't have to. We carry that burden for the happiness of all of our counterparts."

"So you're saying that I make shit choices and my life sucks because of some sort of cosmic law that keeps things in balance? That there's some version of me out there living the life I always dreamed of living?"

"More than one. There's the you that ended up with Sara. The you that ended up with Christian, the you that ended up with Daniel. You always seem to end up in a happy relationship. Everywhere but here. Here you end up alone, but you can still be happy!"

"But you said you were just as miserable as before."

"That's me, son. I never got over the injustice of it. But you're a young man. You have your whole life to find meaning in something else. Something that those other versions of you will never have."

"Okay, let's pretend I believe you again, why are you telling me all this?"

"Because it's my time, son. And that necklace is what led me to you. Just like Nicholas did with me. Nicholas found me in the road waiting to be run over and he dragged me back here. It was his time, you see, and he needed someone to run this shop and watch over the gate."

"And you're saying that's my task now? To be some kind of gatekeeper for this place?"

"I'm saying that the necklace came here because you've been chosen. It's all about being chosen. You can live here, and when it's your time, you'll be led to someone else."

"To what end?" 

"This place is special, son. Nicholas didn't understand and I don't either. All I can tell you is that it chose you. But you're gonna have to decide quick if you want to be chosen. I ain't got much time and I got a lot to teach you."

"You mean I have a choice?"

"That's what this is all about, son. Choices. No matter what you say here, somewhere else there's some version of you doing the opposite."

"Well, that being the case, I guess I'd better go ahead and just hear you out then." John said.

And the story of his heartbreak ended. He learned the secrets of the Universe that night, and the meaning to his own life became far more plain than he would have otherwise believed. He did not live happily ever after, though he lived with purpose until the day a young man with piercing blue eyes smacked a white gold engagement ring on the counter and with tears in his eyes he said,

"Sell it to someone who's ready for a big kind of love. That's my wish for him." 

And John suddenly knew the final piece of the puzzle was falling into place.

National Coming Out Day

The first time I kissed a boy I was 29 years old. The first time I had consenting sex with a boy I was 15. Those intervening fourteen years were full of confusion, denial, less than safe sex (in less than safe places), a marriage, a birth, minor brain surgery, and a divorce  . . . in other words, life. None of that matters in terms of my coming out story and yet somehow all of it matters.

I was closeted for most of my life. Only in my teen years when I began noticing boys and girls and when I had fantasies about both boys and girls. the most confusing thins, though, were the times I'd focus on the men when I watched or looked at porn. I never wavered in my belief that the male form was just as desirable as the female form; which in itself was confusing as I was raised the same way everyone typically is that you will marry and love one woman.

I was never sheltered from homosexuality. I went to an Arts & Academics High School, and I was exposed to and had many gay friends (remember I was fifteen when I first had consenting sex with a man). I understood Gay, but I never felt gay. I liked girls too. I had sexual urges surrounding both. Yet my understanding at that stage in my life was that you were either gay or straight. Imagine my confusion at being both! I didn't even have a word for it, bisexual was something that girls were, and apparently all girls were as well. I did, however, admire anyone I knew who was openly gay. I wished I was as sure about who I was as they were about who they were. Ironically, I was, but at the time I didn't know that bisexuality was a valid identity for a male and I lacked the esteem and confidence to make it valid in spite of this. As it happened, there were three events that would happen around this time, which would put me in the closet and shut it's door for fourteen years.

The first thing that happened was having sex. By the time I was fifteen I'd already had sex with girls but never with boys. My first time with a boy wasn't like "fireworks" and "trains going through tunnels" and all that. What it was, however, was familiar. To contrast it against my sexual experiences with girls up to that point, I knew what I was doing. Here was a body I understood. I knew how a cock worked. I knew the ways to touch, fondle, stroke, lick, whatever; in order to make it feel good. When it was over, though, there was no afterglow. What I mostly felt was more confusion and a healthy dose of fear. No, not fear. Shame. I felt ashamed. I knew I couldn't tell my family. I knew I didn't want to "give up" girls. I knew I wanted to do it again with boys, but that I had to never do it again; and so I didn't. Not for a really long time. Instead, I stepped into the closet.

The second thing that threw me into the closet was gay porn. Also at around 15 or 16, my mom found a gay pron magazine of mine. When she confronted me, she was angry. Though, as I recall, the source of her anger wasn't the fact that I owned gay porn, it was that it had been left in the bathroom where visiting family members could have found it. She was embarrassed and she didn't want to have to explain her "gay" son to the rest of the family. So, when she asked if I was gay, I answered honestly and said that I wasn't. After all, I did still want girls. The closet door began to shut.

The final thing that pushed me into a fourteen year exile was homophobia. Specifically a homophobic moment with my mom. I had been dating a black girl and my mom was less than thrilled. She was very honest that she knew it was wrong and that it was just the way she was raised, and to her credit she was understanding but also protective. We have a mixed family and so her misgivings didn't and still don't make sense to me. Still, it was beyond her comfort level, until I asked her the following question: "would you rather I date a black woman or a white man?" She answered, "black woman." From there I don't remember much of the conversation, but I do remember clearly that she said to me that if I were gay it wouldn't affect her love for me, but it also didn't mean my partner would be welcome at Christmas. And with that one final statement I knew that I could never be honest with my family about who I was and how I thought of men. The closet door shut and I remained there, in the dark for fourteen years.

During that fourteen years, I lived a horrible cycle. I denied my attraction to men and tried really hard to forget it. The cycle, however, was more than persistent. It started as noticing the men when I looked at porn. It continued to finally buying gay or all male porn. It culminated in illicit encounters with men in bookstores, cars, alleys or, if I was lucky, a motel. If no men were available there were phone sex chat lines (this was the days before the Internet was "mainstream") which resulted in my not having a phone due to hundreds of dollars in phone bills for several months at a time. Dangerous to be sure, but even worse, it left me feeling empty and ashamed. Each time I would throw away all my porn, and resolve that it was just a weak moment. I would focus only on women and decide that my "urges" would subside when I met "the one." The cycle only repeated.I eventually got married when I was 24. I was physically faithful to my wife, though the cycle of porn continued and even grew as I gained more and more access to the Internet. I never told my wife I was attracted to men, though.

After a few years I fell ill and nearly died. Brain surgery saved my life and I made a full recovery. this is another story. What matters for this story is that, when one stares their mortality in the face a great many things become clear. I realized that life is short and I wanted to live as a whole, genuine person. As a result of this I eventually came out to my wife. She did not take it well and after a long, painful process we divorced; even though I came out as bisexual. With my marriage over, I was free to really explore who I was. I didn't say experiment. I said explore. I tried on the label of bisexual when I was 28 years old and I started "dating." I learned quickly that bisexual dating for men is basically hooking up or one night stands. While the danger factor may have been removed, I recognized this was the same pattern I'd been in before I got married.

Then, I had my first kiss.

In all the encounters I'd had over the intervening years, male kissing was always very taboo. I didn't and don't understand this. Perhaps, this is because I love kissing so much. At any rate, I had been helping out a gay friend of mine by giving him rides to and from work when his car broke down. I was also "out" for the first time and so I openly flirted and made it clear that I was completely gaga for him. Eventually our friendship evolved and next came the moment I came out to myself. Completely and unequivocally came out. No quotation marks, no hesitation. It happened when he asked me:

"What would you do if I asked you to kiss me?"

I said I would do it, and he replied, "Well then why aren't you?" and I had one of the deepest most passionate kisses of my life. In the words of S. Morgenstern,“Since the invention of the kiss, there have only been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.” It was fireworks. It was trains through tunnels. Just that one kiss was more amzing and affirming than the previous fourteen years of illcit sex. And for the next several month I was happy and really feeling whole. Alas, we ultimately wanted different things and it was not to be more than a summer romance. From that point on, however, I was out to friends if not family. The immediate benefit to this was the fact that I no longer feared sex with men and so I didn't seek it in secret. I was no longer having dangerous sex. 

Completely coming out, or coming all the way out? That came as the result of activism. I had begun dating a woman who was polyamorous and this seemed like a great idea to me because I had denied my bisexuality for so long, I wanted to be free to explore it more. So we entered a relationship and she was the most supportive woman I'd ever met. In fact, if I hadn't been burned so badly by marriage I think I'd marry her. I was hired as a contributing writer for Bi Social Network and was literally over the moon about it because I had been struggling for years as a writer. My family had long known my desires to be a writer and I couldn't wait to share it with them. The only problem was that I felt I couldn't. Ultimately, with the encouragement of my life partner I decided to come out. I was nearly 30, I had a son, I'd faced death (literally) and I could be proud of who I was.

I chose to come out to my sister first. She'd always been accepting of me and so it was easier. She wasn't surprised and said she had suspected for a while. She congratulated me and has proven over the last four years that she accepts me no matter who I love and I am more than grateful for her. She is a beacon of support when life gets me down.

My mother  . . . this was harder. I had the memories of her disapproval from my teen years looming in my memory. I knew she wouldn't accept it and I fully expected to be disowned. Surprising me, however, she was supportive. She hugged me and she said she loved me and nothing would ever change that. She also said she couldn't have been more surprised if I'd said I had been half alien. She wasn't in favor of telling the rest of the family. Honestly, I'm not sure to this day if aunts and uncles and cousins know. But in that moment she accepted who I was even if she didn't accept my expressing it. She asked me to allow her the belief that any future boyfriends are "just friends" though I am happy to say we are working through that now.

At any rate, I came out and have been living out to everyone for four years. My partner and I are both bisexual and maintain our polyamorous relationship. Living a genuine life has led me to a life as a writer, to Los Angeles and the GLAAD awards where I met Josh Hutcherson, Chaz Bono, Milla Jovovich and many more people. It has led me to many more opportunities than trials and ultimately more love than I could have hoped for. I am free to date men and I do. I prove Dan Savage wrong every day of my existence.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.    

After My House was Robbed

From the minute we're born
Our life as a statistic begins
255 babies born every minute and
Every step of our development from that point on
Is programmed and categorized
For easy comparison and reference
Apgar score, head circumference
Height, weight
How fast we grow . . . or how slow
From the minute we're born
We either fit in or we don't
We're either normal or abnormal
And every minute after realizing this
Is spent avoiding statistics
"I don't want to be a statistic" we shout, while
57 million Americans have mental Health disorders
      (and there are 55 Million registered republicans)
How quick can we say
"I'm not crazy" when
1 out of 2 people abuse alcohol
Let's drink to not being the one with the problem!
4 out of 5 of us do drugs
Well, pass the dutchie because I'm. Number. Four.
1 out 5 children witness domestic violence
So maybe that's why I still shake when someone wants to fight
3 million homes will be robbed
1 out of every 6 women will be raped
      (1 out of 10 men)
216 people will die while this poem is being read

The question is, Does that matter?

How many sunrises will be seen?
How many sunsets?
How many first kisses will be enjoyed and
How many last kisses will linger in memory?
How many job interviews will be nailed and
How many pink slips doled out?
When will success happen and
When will its relevance be questioned
How many books will be read?
How many poems written?
How much love will be fallen into and
How many dances will be danced?
     (In the rain?)

From the minute we're born
Our life as a statistic begins
And we remain one until we die
This is the way of things
Birth followed by death
The part in the middle?
That's called life and
Life is now and
Life  . . .
Is still to come.

Blue

She speaks to me softly
The stuff of dreams
Wrapped around me
Squeezing me tightly
She tells me she'll never leave me
She tells me she loves me
She tells me I can be free . . .
As long as I'm with her
She crawls inside my veins
And she pumps her love through me
Until I bleed her out
Creating verses of devotion
And paintings of her beauty
Until I'm an exhausted and beaten shell
She takes me in her arms

"When will I be okay?" I ask her
She answers with her body
Pushing me down
She climbs on top of me
"You'll be okay inside me" she whispers
Taking me again and again
Until I have nothing left to give
She humbly asks for more of my love
Offering butterfly kisses
and Promises of forever
She'll never leave me
As long as I give her everything
When will I be okay?
When? Will I be okay?
I'll be okay if I live for her
I'll be okay if I bleed for her
I'll be okay if I sing to her
I'll be okay if I believe in her
Never that I'll be okay
Never that I'm enough
Never that I'm okay on my own
Miss Blue
The stuff of nightmares
Taking never giving
But I have found my voice
And when I leave, For what will be the last time
She asks
Could you stay . . .
Long enough for me to say goodbye

She speaks to me softly
The stuff of dreams
Wrapped around me
Squeezing tightly

THAT Song

I hate that song.
The one that used to be my favorite
Only now it just reminds me of you
Like your lingering scent on my pillow that just won't wash out
Or the phantom of your lips
on my lips
Words so soulful remind me of
That weekend
You said you'd do anything with me
And I said I'd let you.
Because I didn't know it was all going to go so wrong for you
While I was just dying to believe in what I'd heard
Now I hear that song
And it's still my favorite sometimes
Only now it comes with baggage
And I'm carrying so many already
I just don't know how I can handle my escape plan, my safe space, this melodic requiem
To become as heavy as the bags full of dad's empties, full of mom's judgement,
Full of parental guilt and full of my fight or flight
You see, that song, it was something I shared with you
It wasn't something for you to take with you when you stopped calling
Leaving it as all I have to remind me of the hope I felt.
So I'll take the song back please.
And I'll put it in the empty spot I'd made
In my heart, for you to live
Because, you see
I love that song
The one that's my favorite because it reminds me of you.

The Audience I've Never Met

Lost!
On the road forever
     (or at least it feels like it)
Not arriving; False starts and detours
Roadblocks in the way
Like so many crumpled papers in a wastebasket
The problem is, I'm not writing for me
I'm writing for an audience I've never met
And what I want to say is so much more personal and
Not at all appropriate for polite conversation
immediately after introduction
I was inspired by the muse in the ether
Giving me the words when I've got nothing remotely interesting to say
Telling me to share my pain
Like a dirty needle in a back alley
Encouraging me to lay bare my angst
Like a catholic in a confessional
Demanding I convey what its like
To see the shame of every memory I never wanted
Reflected in your eyes
How much it hurts when your favorite poems
     (the ones that make you cry)
and the songs you sing the loudest are all echoing your pain
With the words you could never find on your own,
Bouncing off the walls of my soul
Shouting your hatred and loss
Until it becomes my own and
I live with my shame and your hatred as my neighbors
And then the words come
Hot and stinging
Painting an ugly picture that seems
Somehow hauntingly beautiful
I am equal parts excitement and fear
When I come to the Audience I've never met
As a supplicant
Begging for empathy
Pleading for understanding
From someone
Anyone who can say
You are not alone in this
Because I wonder
What would that be like?
So I relate my story through verse
Waiting for something, anything
And then I understand
I'm writing for myself  
Sharing with an audience I've never met
And if art, like beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder
Then it is my honor to share mine with
The Audience I've Never met