Self-Awareness.

 

With each day I take for granted, I vow to appreciate the next, blessed with the opportunity to once again look, and feel my best.  With my feet firmly planted, my morals maneuver me through all the rest, as I have been granted another day to conquer the world and put my limits to the test.  

Some may call me an idealist though I am as real as they come, as I refuse to succumb to the notion that we must all acquiesce to society's rules that really only just make us boring and numb.  

I can paint my own destiny, I am the master of my domain, though my moods and momentum may change in an instant, I am grateful that they change at all, as my indecision shows I'm living, and still standing despite my many falls.  
Others' attempts to understand me often leave them more perplexed than when they began, I am an anomaly and will not be mislabeled by any other man.  

A human being, not one doing, I live and let live just as well, yet I am still often the myth and then the legend that cowards and commoners attempt to dispel.  The subject and the predicate that illiterates will never know how to spell, I have won your game of thrones; I am the king of Winterfell.

Subjugated for far too long, I refuse to remain the victim of your abuse; either endure me or ignore me, your decision is your prerogative, I will not sit idly by waiting for you to choose.  You no longer hold the noose that tightens around my neck, no longer own the signature that validates my cheques.  

My strength lies in my resilience, eternal proverbial phoenix rising from the ashes that I am, this is where you remind me of why your approval is even worth a damn. Some have dubbed me the devil incarnate for I refuse to let anyone in, through the barricades I peer out through from inside my glass house made of equal sin.  

You claim that I am worse than you and even with my ego subdued I cannot accept something so absurd as allowing you to have the final word, I have much more to offer the world, for it will always be my oyster and I will always be its pearl.

Projection.

 

Superfluous in your sedation,
a situation of inebriation.
Projecting onto others all
that fills you with trepidation.
Your salvation seems to be
entwined with degradation.
Humiliation tactics result in
little more than alienation;
an isolated abomination
enabled by your own frustration.
And yet, you play the fool,
act so coy, as though
it's recreation, when it's really
just cause for further consternation.
The stars in your enchanting
eyes could've been constellations,
instead of this denial-footed dance
that defines your docile narration.
A creation of confidence kissed
by complacence, I pray you find
a way to heal before you pursue
further relations. Irrigate your need
for empty validation, before it eats
away at your soul's starvation.

Central Park.

 

You came along when skies were dark,
just like a song, you left your mark.
Upon my heart, I felt a spark.
Our energy was off the charts,
hit a homerun, out of the ballpark.
An unexpected restart, our chemistry
encapsulated me, like the finest art.
I was a whale, and you my shark,
these butterflies, you left me, are all monarch.
And I refuse to disembark, from the stark
difference between you and other guys.
No other lover has been quite as adept,
at leaving me feeling windswept.
Caught off guard, although I like it,
this kind of love at first sight, it's
disarming, although it feels effortless.
a brand new reference, that's incredulous.
And now I'm here, and you're so far,
but I can still feel your touch upon my
brand new skin.
You've become the one I want,
oh how, I crave your gaze, that's
enchanted me, and made it's mark,
whether you're right next to me,
or as far away as Central Park.
Never before has someone been more
intriguing, or befitting of my all-encompassing adoration.
Simply put, you should know that
I would wait a thousand years and a day,
for a recreation of those few moments
we shared of sheer unadulterated bliss.
You fit me like a glove, left me yearning
for a love that's just slightly out of touch.
In another lifetime or alternate reality,
I know without a doubt that we are
holding hands just like we should be.
And yet, until we meet again, I'll hold
a candle to our flame that brightly burns,
and leaves me feeling whole, just for having known my same is out there somewhere, breathing life, love, light, luck into fading spaces.

Healer.

 

I collect others' karmic dust
cure &&& heal the unconscious
like a vacuum, I suction up
trials &&& trauma that disrupt
daily lives leaving them in disrepair
disturbances that dare to keep
them on the edge of their toes
like volcanoes verging to erupt.
Then wring my hands til blood
runs circling the sink accusing
everything but the boundaries
I don't put up, to protect the
sacred sanctity of my own sanity,
a counterintuitive cycle that needs
to complete, so that it leads to the
death of this dance that defeats.
Nothing compared to the joy it depletes.