i don't get shoved in lockers

i don't dodge left hook punches

i won't flee into my own hearse

i'm not tripping over lunges

but i feel it in their eyes, oh lord

i can feel it in their stare

they feel as though they can't afford

letting Others in their lair.

every glance in my direction

betrays their cliche thoughts

as if they can't see the perfection

of what my heart has wrought.

i took my chisel, firm in hand

carved Self from what was Stranger

and sadly now I comprehend

great art's ever in danger.

though their words are cracks and fissures,

I am stead' with stone and mortar

they'll find my heart it never withers,

and my soul it shall not falter.

So avail my fort with battering rams!

Climb walls with makeshift ladders!

If they're the ones that say I'm damned,

at least I'm made of such that matters.

i walk the path behind my house every day, like a prayer, the steps of my feet on Hay and Grass the only hymn I've ever sung.

new Blades shoot up between the Straw, to the side of the asphalt that burns my sole with every step

i have no wish to trample down the new Shoots of Life, but i have no choice:

it is Springtime, and i am only human. 

we set our tempo to the sea against the shore

gentle rhythm, gentle touches

every brush of skin is "you are mine",

every shaky breath is "i love you".

and, yeah, we've done this a thousand times

but a thousand and one can't hurt

and, like so many nights before

we'll have one pair of hands clasped together,

the other wrapped in swirls of satin sheets

back and forth, back and forth, like the sea

and i can't help but drown in your love

when that wave crashes over us,

you're the only thing i need to breathe.

Wishes are for children.

Then what am I left with, as someone in the middle?

I may have lost all my teeth but my bones still stretch and my shoulders still grow (weary, with the weight of all you've thrust on me)

I once was told to dream to the moon and back, but now I'm expected to be all the shiny words businessmen like:

practical, and realistic,

and here-in-the-moment, without

dreaming with eyes open and running late because the sky was just too stunning.

I thought I loved the stars, but you told me I'll never reach them.

I was told to put my faith in God and my fellow man, but those who would be my brothers and sisters and siblings have only stood by as the jagged edges and sharp points of their words spill the blood of their blood (my Crimson, one thing I can trust) onto cracked pavement and broken promises.

I'll put my faith in what I choose for once. Let them falter as they bid me come with talk of gods and men, of law and wealth -

I trust my sureness of foot,

and my goodness of heart (though my head sometimes has other thoughts)

I trust that each star and sun and moon

is nothing less and nothing more

than what I believe it to be.

there's a comet on my forehead

because i fell all too much like a shooting star

and five orbits hadn't dulled the pleasant burn of entering the atmosphere too fast.

there's a black hole on my left knee

because of miscalculated trajectories and an astronaut's refusal to abandon burning ships.

the asteroid between the third and the final joints of my fingers has been worn smooth

where once i picked it raw again and again and

i'm torn between excitement and disbelief that one of the few marks left by you is fading