Incognito.

Driving through the streets with my windows tinted, I wish you would notice me but it’s like I don’t exist.  Incognito though I need you more every time I remain ignored, unable to break free from feeling anonymous.  Hidden from the world, like I reside behind a veil with little chance to grow; I just want to be loved.  A dream for me is for my name to escape from your lips, for you to acknowledge the hurt that I have within.  Vying for your attention like a child devoid of love or autonomy, your apathy is unfounded as I beg and plead for you to become aware of me.  My heart breaks every night after accepting that you do not care, drowning in my own self-loathing; my lungs struggle for air without you here.  Your acceptance, somehow, means more to me than myself; I have lost the will to breathe, knowing you has become the only cure for my disease.  I wake up every day aspiring to hear you say my name, then die a thousand deaths when nothing changes and inexplicably remains the same.   Resigned to a future without you by my side, I am forced to be satisfied with merely being alive.  Lost amongst the shadows, I will haunt you from afar; my desperation runs its course now, there is no hope left for me to be your shining star.  With hollow faith, I write my name and place it into the Wailing Wall, with a prayer that the universe responds through you before time turns into regret.  It will only be too late if my efforts were all in vain, and when our lives have both passed us by without you ever possessing the power unlocked by uttering my name.  Sand slipping through fingertips is just as slow as time measured in an hourglass, yet each moment feels too long because each one could be my last.  Through it all, the thought of you keeps my spirit alive and burning strong, it will all be worth it when my name becomes your song.

Truth.

Inconsistent with the brutal love that I believed that I had earned, your appreciation for me, at first, made me question if it was even something that I deserved.  Through concepts that now seem simple, like trust and honesty, you showed me what it means to be loved in my entirety.  Always where you say you will be, no lie has ever been born inside your beautiful mind and then imparted from your lips.  You listen without prejudice, always supportive without judgment as I am slowly learning the meaning of true happiness.  Your doting kiss is often paired with compliments, I feel my worth increase every time your actions comply with your words.  No false promises, you only speak the truth.  We rarely fail to see eye to eye, but when conflict rises I am astonished by our ability to forgive. The freedom to do whatever I please, although alien to me from lovers past, is what guides me back to you each night; not my first love, but I pray you are my last.  Communication between us flows as naturally as rivers become seas; every word as soothing as a Mediterranean breeze.  Accustomed to the third degree and jealousy combined with toxic control, I almost resigned to my fate, assuming that this was the only way I should be adored.  I confused comfort for love, refusing to acknowledge that I was hurt; a mere shell of the man that I was born to be.  In my weakest hour, you appeared accompanied by a reserve of strength that slowly made me fall in love with you and myself anew.  Like an ocular transplant, my new eyes and perfect vision fill me with hope, as I now know, because of you, that I deserve to be loved.   Unexpectedly, you unlocked my true capacity to love, revealing to me what I had always denied; our bond will not bend or break, your affection makes it feel wonderful to be alive.

Hands.

My mother’s hands, the same ones that held my own, when I was learning to walk, were not fast enough to catch me when I decided that I was going to run

I was precocious and believed I knew it all, that somehow I had outgrown her, my very first friend, and that I was invincible; I could not fail.  

She was there as I turned every corner, though I pretended she did not exist.  Despite my arrogance, I still landed into her arms with every fall, desperate for the cure of her doting kiss.

Nursed back to health, I chose to forget her loving care and was once again dedicated to my own detriment.  In a rush to grow up, I experimented with every poison, convinced that it was surely what would help me mature.

In my teenage haste, I failed to observe my mother’s hands folded in prayer, and wondered instead when she would distance herself from my despair.   In reality, she was asking God to help repair the lost little lamb that took too many wrong turns yet fancied himself a man.

Anyone else would break if subjected to my torment, my behaviour worsening by the hour with each new cry for help.  

But not my mother… she possessed immeasurable strength, and managed to withstand each atrocity that I unleashed.

Many would have given up or in, unable to continue fighting a losing war.  This was when her hands grew tired and ached with pain, weathered from my stubborn storms.

Sunny days surrounded by sycophants as I rejected the unconditional love at home, turned quickly cold as my false pride held my head up to deny the consistent truth.

My lowest moments arrived amidst the lost souls that also sailed through dire straits; they provided me with clarity, shaking me awake.

Tail between leg, I crawled home like a vagabond on the final leg of his journey.  Filthy and matted with shame and self-loathing, I reached out blindly in the dark.

My mother’s hands, tense but forgiving, were miraculously still there waiting to be accepted.  I fell to my knees, and caught the most brief, beautiful glimpse of paradise at her feet.

The hands that fed me, held me as I slept and also dried my tears in infancy, retained their memory and reassured me similarly as I grieved.

In adulthood, I look upon my mother’s hands in awe, as they age gracefully, and are still just as soft. 

I will never hesitate to count my blessings, of which, she is number one.  My own hands have learned selflessness from observing hers.  

The strength and guidance from my mother’s hands taught me how to walk and now I can finally stand, proudly holding my mother’s hand.

Snake.

Your lies were like wine, which blurred the lines of my reality  As I drank thirstily of you, I failed to see my city under siege.  Too intoxicated to retaliate and too enamoured to care, I became a ghost of a king, a mere shadow as I was hardly there.  Sobriety, though seductive, would have eliminated you.  So destructive of me to keep drinking when that was the last thing I should do.  Abandoned my awareness, replacing it with false comforts in the dark.  You were the only archer whose arrows would always hit my awkward heart.  Deserted by my disciples, autumn's leaves left the coldest winter when they died.  My screams could no longer be stifled, finally regained the strength to be immune to all of your lies.  New conscious eyes allowed me to see you for the first time.  You cowered in the corner pleading for another chance as you pressured me to drink until I was once again entranced.  That was the day your appeal melted away, stripped of your schemed, you were hardly the dream I had mistaken you for.  Awake, I reflect on how I remained numb and unaware as I sat naively wide eyed and how I was silly enough to trust a snake, assuming that one could ever play fair.  I called it love, confused though you had been devouring me alive right from the start, devoid of me, now we will see how you will ever survive without my blood pumping into your heart.