every once in a while i get the notion to share , i really don’t like to share my writing… mostly i keep it to myself, partly because i’m more of what i write than what people see. if that makes any sense at all… so i share with strangers here…leaving the most intimate parts of myself on here and refusing to think twice about what i’ve said or what they’ll take it to mean…i continue to be selective about who i invite into this area of my life… i choose people who have war wounds, scars that life kicked salt into, fresh bruises from old lovers, scabs that haven’t completely healed, and blisters that need stitches instead of ointment…they understand that everything is not what it seems, and appreciate the truth instead of beautiful lies…
once in a while i get the notion to share like on valentine’s day when i wrote him a poem, hoping it would explain the things my mouth wouldn’t say…knowing that maybe he’ll understand and maybe he won’t…but trying nonetheless to reach pass all the concrete, and break away the granite, so i could sit next too his shuddering heart, just to keep it company…build a campfire and listen to it beat, be its company and maybe hear it say “thank you, i was cold and lonely”… i wrote what words couldn’t say, and asked him to name its spirit… i signed my name and wrote:
i’ve wanted to hold you for a long time now...
wanted to wrap my mind around yours and warm your heart with my hands,
wanted to hold you in places you won’t go,
places you’re afraid to acknowledge,
places you haven’t discovered…
i’ve wanted to hold you in moonlight according to candlelight psalms,
watch the heavens heal the earth and call it a horizon…
i've wanted to measure your pain with pleasure,
match your distance with comfort
wanted to be your fever so you’d sweat passion…
i’ve wanted to hold you for a long time now,
so let me…
he understood,
and said,
"b, you make me want to write you poetry"...
