I’m still collecting the members of my family
Each one, perfect in their way,
makes the days easier to accept
despite the loneliness, despite the pain
Sometimes, it seems that love flows
endlessly from me, welcoming too many
but bolts of bitterness remind
me of the pointlessness
the seeming pointlessness
and newly placed friends drop silently
to the ground, landing in a pile,
a lump, a twisted bit
that I’ll soon stop thinking about.
The following poem isn’t my favorite, but it was so formed in my head and in order to not lose it, I wrote it on a discarded blank CD, which was the only blank surface I could find at that moment.
Love Is Simple
It hasn’t been enough to love people
to grasp at them, lightening bugs
I want to jar and admire.
They’ve been too quick, lighting up
and confusing me.
Tactic must change
approach needs to be more subtle
style needs refined
and words need to be heard.
Love is such a simple request
yet it seems among
the most elusive of gifts.
I’m no longer willing to feel
punished by time, by God (or god),
by the will of those who just
don’t want me.
My heart longs to be filled,
my eyes long to gaze into another’s
and this request feels
like it will never be granted.