What if all you say is true?
What if this is all I am, long for and need to be?
But you! You base me on a poem, one poem, a single perspective.
Is that all I am? Am I that simple?
But as you read do you see? And even if you do, do you see what I see?
Perhaps this is what drives me.
Perhaps all this is my making; perhaps all that left I pushed away, all that teared I made cry, and all that died I killed.
None of this is real though some of it is.
Take all of it but take none of it.
It's just the way it is.
I am the poem but not just that poem.

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The facade of a friendship you left for him, as you nonchalantly leave.
You feel his eyes on you, yet you walk as if reprieved.
Vividly aware of his contempt for you, yet you manage to smile inside.
You tell yourself "he is a stronger man now" that you've passed him in your stride.
But he will haunt you; your thoughts, dreams, just give it time.
You may be the seductress but he is much more than just the mime.

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I long for the unchanging, the surety and constant flow of time.
But as the sands trickle, I am confronted by demons without faces.
Each dramatizing characters that render unique individuals.
As I watch their wickedness; a coldness creeps down my spine.
A chill of fear that feels like a cold hand grasping my heart. Squeezing slowly but with growing intensity.
But the fear I feel is not towards these monsters.

I feel a coldness creeping down my spine. I feel it as I realize... I'm smiling!

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His fingers brushed against the keys contemplating the flow.

"Breathe" he reminded himself as she approached. They spoke, but after he remembered only the sound of her voice its context was not recorded. Even as complex as he was, he was unable to watch her; be in her presence and function whole. He had met his end, he just didn't know it yet.

Dear you,
Me,
I love you.

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As children we are so often bombarded by vivid declarations of hope telling us that the world is there for our taking. "You are only limited by the limits you set for yourself". Or so we are told. But as the years pass I have found out that though you may be allowed to set limits for yourself it is in reality society that sets the standard of which we evaluated our limits. How do you know that you are of what standard? We simply absorb the reaction of our actions. As students we evaluate ourselves based on our grades; as writers by the reaction of our readers; as musician we seek the adoration of those who hear us. I have always refused to conform to the structure society has set. But slowly as I have began to use phrases like "those damn kids" & "when I was your age"�. I find that I may have to start evaluating who I am from the perspective of many. Soon the student, the poet, the musician and the child in me will have to perish. I (sigh) may have to get a job!

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You, I wish it was simple you and me.
I wish it was not possible to hurt; but yet I watch you bleed.
Scars on my own hands are many.
But as the old heal I seem to so nonchalantly tear my flesh with my corroded blade of a mind.
I miss you... I do.
So much of me loves you, longs for you, needs you.
But knife in hand; with still fresh blood on dried, I stand.
Bloody knife; blood that is not only mine.

You, do you know what I feel for you.
Why why why do you need to taunt me?
Wasn't that one whipping, as I stood naked on bended knees before you not enough?
Are you really so ignorant or are you drawn to all those who see you as a goddess?
I know not if for you love I feel.
But to you I am drawn as maggots to rotting flesh.
I devour myself, for in you I see so much of who I want to be.

You, soft, gentle, caring; you!
To you I ask; why me?
I have only pain to offer.
Pain even a heart as big as yours cannot hope to vessel.
I only hope that you will be happy.

To you, you, you.
Profound, unsure, complete.
Me, I love you.

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