Glue

The time I spent with you was necessary
I could not be myself right now without it.
My other needs and wishes often vary
But always I need you - you cannot doubt it.
I am perhaps - no certainly - less glad,
Less chipper than I am all other times.
But you must not think that you made me sad;
Nor do you bring about my angry rhymes.
The only solace that I have from these
Is you and how you always make me feel;
When I am struck by massive, deep unease
Your presence keeps me tethered to the real.
And what is real? Our love, and how it makes
Me whole again when everything else breaks.

Dry

if I'm a sponge, then you have wrung me dry;
If I'm a well, there is no water left.
I will be angry if you ask me why
My resources are suddenly bereft.
If you just paid attention, then you'd know
I'm tired and I'm empty and I'm sore.
But you are blind to what lays others low
And do not understand I don't have more.
Just let me be, and do not try to squeeze
Blood from the rock, lest it should shatter me;
I usually am eagerer to please,
But right now that seems pure stupidity.
I need to be myself, and let me do
Nothing for others that I don't choose to.

Done

I cannot do this shit. Not anymore.
It's just too much. I'm fucking done with it.
I don't care what you think you need me for.
I do not give a fuck about your shit.
I'm through. I'll let you know, if you still care,
When maybe someday I can deal again,
But right now you can shove it you know where
And dealing with it is an if, not when.
Just suck it up; I've done enough right now.
I've spent too much of me on this already.
It doesn't matter if you have a cow
My grip on my emotions is unsteady
And I'm just getting started. Go away.
That's as polite as I will be today.

Fantastick

I am so sloppy sometimes. Seriously.
I could have done this better, I presume.
But things are now as good as they could be,
So I'm not sure if better has much room.
I like this life, these ways, and who I am,
And I imagine you feel that as well;
And therefore though I'll always wish to cram
A little more joy in, I cannot tell
How that could happen. Though it did not start
As well as it could have, let us remember
That a beginning's but a little part;
Things change so quickly: just recall December.
So while I may be slowly, silly, slow
I'm really happy now, just so you know.

Countercommute

You get strange glances when you go the way
That no one ever is supposed to go;
They look at you as if they want to say
That you must not know what they all do know,
And yet they can't assume you don't, and wish
They could convince themselves you were insane:
The type of glance that always seems to fish
For answers it can never hope to gain.
You must ignore them if you want to be
Yourself, and not a drone others control;
There's nothing more depressing you could see
Than someone who has jettisoned their soul.
Walk on past stares and even sidelong glances;
Life only lives in taking awkward chances.

Shadow Puppets

No matter how insistent I may be
I cannot change some aspects of my life;
I may be able to express more glee,
Eat healthier, avoid destructive strife,
Perhaps learn some new skills, dance, act, or sing,
Or even traipse about in formal wear
But I'm not in control of everything;
Some parts of me will just always be there
Despite what I decide. Yet I don't mean
Those parts of me are bad, or I'm dismayed;
I simply mean they serve me as the screen
On which the others' shadows are displayed.
Of these there's one I think you knew I'd mention:
My need for you, your love, and your attention.

Used To Say

Across a table you're so far away
Although our hands on it are intertwined.
I search for something wittier to say
To keep your head and eyes ever inclined
Towards me in interest, not turned aside
To see what else may seem of interest here.
I worry that I am no more supplied
With that which keeps your concentration clear
And on me than I am equipped to make
The table that we lean across - and yet
No matter what detours I seem to take
In our discussion, or what I forget,
You stay with me, your eyes locked in on mine
And you know what? That really suits me fine.

Runner's High

There's always such catharsis in a run
The interplay of legs, torso and arms
Is of a sort that cannot but be fun
And speed itself, of course, has many charms.
But in the heaving chest and stretching limbs
There is a special purity of spirit;
A healthy body singing loving hymns
To its own pleasure must perforced endear it
Unto itself, and make a pleasure grow
Out of the sweet concordance of the sprint.
It is a waste to ever go too slow;
True joy comes feeling the decisive print
Of dead heat in the legs and muscles racing
To keep up with the deep ecstatic pacing.

O Night

Dying should be easy, automatic
A fall immediate to its intention.
A simple motion, not blocked by a static
Tension in the service of prevention.
But far too often it's deliberate
Slow to arrive no matter how approached,
A solid bar - no way to shiver it -
Standing between the death that has been broached
And its completion. I wonder how is it
That something natural can so resist
Although resistance can be so exquisite
That that could be why barriers exist.
But why is death so hard, when it should be
Somewhere we all come instinctively?

Dreamers Often Lie

I have my preferences and you have yours
And somewhere in between is what we do;
Therefore I fear that each of us just stores
Up disagreements in between us two.
I try to realize we aren't the same
And not obsess on where we disagree
Nor seem to indicate I think my claim
To mutual decisions ought to be
Greater than yours. I know we should be equal
And I prefer it so, the way we are;
But still I struggle with that logic's sequel:
That we must compromise. And yet so far
Nothing we've come to by that process seems
To have been tamer than my wildest dreams.