I have to keep going and writing and letter by letter
finding a path through today into tonight and the next day
in a way i have never known before, on the outer edge
of truth i never wanted to really know, no matter
how much i secretly hid in corners wanting so bad
to call my self something that demands respect
without a chuckle and snearing eyes telling me
I will never be what i want to be so I keep running
and hiding and writing and when I don't write anymore
my brain that is being crushed by a skull that refuses to grow with me
is still anonomously loving words in silent inner screams
that leads to pulsating flesh and tips of fingers that tense
up, and push against the air with every cell of every passionate dreamer
and liver of life i once thought i was or would become, pleading
for there to actually be something, to push against...to join
with in violent freedom and release of the present tense.
to push so hard that my abrasions are cut open to not hide
the wounds anymore and let my blood pour
through my fingers to the letter keys and through space, through
the same air i am tensing up and pushing against...pushing even more
now with eyes wide open and momentarily blind, i can
almost believe in the contrast of the soft and hard edges
of your curves that for now only smell like christmas trees in
empty rooms owned by someone else's family...
where i am for now away from hope and home but regardless of
what anyone says or believes..I am fighting, in
my own way...repeating a simple mantra over and over as i push against the
blank air...soon...soon....soon
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