Soon enough
the sun comes closer to the north
and the red breasted robins
will show up to signify proof
of spring.
This means
it is only a short ways away
from summer.
I look up –
Moonlit moments
make me wonder when it was
the first time
I saw beauty or like how the streetlamps
cast a bluish shade of light
across the face of my love.
I swear
her expressions twirl
through my mind
like ballerinas in the sky.
It is not the moon or the stars
but her eyes
that make me aware that
Heaven exists
and of course
the Angels look upon her
with admiration
not envy.
But yet, I see her and how
her world postured upon her
and destroyed her heart
from those who saw her
as a diamond
and diminished her soul
with lies.
You are none of what you supposed
and I,
I suppose you have no idea
how you change the world
or pose threats to the demons
because you are more pure
than you pain allows you to believe.
No scars can take away the truth.
I know.
I have to say
your kiss is the entry at the doorway
and I am eagerly knocking
to seek entry and pleading
for what comes next—
I know she is
or was
and to me,
she always will be
perfect.
I know I am far from perfect
or perhaps I am far from deserving
or far from beautiful
and so, I hope my kiss
is enough to pass the gates
so that I can touch or taste
or tease
and feel you.
It is not a sin, to be sinful
or lustful when looking upon her—
at least, not to me
because to me,
she is the beauty
and I am the eye of the beholder
which means she could never
be ugly, or change,
or fade from the way she exists.
No one knows
what she does to me
and to be fair
neither do I.
No.
All I know is when I see her,
I wonder why I waited so long
to allow myself
to be this free.
I see her.
I realize that this was the reason
why music was created;
so that we can dance
and yes, same as the kiss
is the entry at the doorway;
music was made for dancing
and music is to dancing
as dancing is to two lovers
moving together
so that soon
they can become one.
I am sorry and not sorry
and sorry again
because I see her and feel her
and I lose myself
to be with her.
I am lost
or crazy
as if I have been infested
and falling into a feeding frenzy
blinded by lust and love;
I cannot get enough of her,
even after I get my fill
I still want more.
Or wait no.
I will always want more.
I dare someone to tell me,
“I love her more than you do,.”
I dare anyone
because no one could love her more
than I do,
which is not to say that I am perfect
or that my love is not scared
or wounded from the echoes of my past.
I am no better than the beast
to her beauty.
Yet,
I can say that my imperfections
cause me to love her
differently, and thus,
I love her perfectly enough
and to the point
where no one can love her
from my angle
or from my perspective.
trust me
Leaving my past behind me
was the hardest choice
and stepping away
was the hardest thing
I have ever done.
Although I see,
I am blind in some ways
but perhaps my blindness
has become selective
like my hearing
or like my trespasses
or those who have trespassed
upon me, —I have been selective
with who has insulted me
or who had the right
to hurt my soul.
Although I walk, or stand upright,
I know that I crawl
and I know that I am weak
or beaten.
It is morning
and the sunlight has taken its place
on the scene.
I am somewhere Downtown now,
shooting through a tunnel
on a subway, and moving
like a bullet through the barrel.
Eventually,
I will arrive.
Although I live
I often die.
I often sigh at the signs I see
which I admit
it has taken the best of me
to stand back up
and find the strength
to live again.
Therefore,
never let it be said
that a woman is weaker
because I know that by far
she is stronger.
How do I know?
All it takes
is the touch from her hand
to remind me
and suddenly
I remember
she is the music
which soothes the soul
of my savage beast.
No one can love her like I do.
Not even me
I could live eleven lifetimes
and still,
I could die and come back
a thousand more
and still,
no one could ever touch me
like her.
The Written Addiction 