un-bend-ing.

You favor crooked pathways,
while I prefer the straightest course.

But can I reel you in,
or will I have to bend my footsteps to meet yours?

imparfait.

I have recently come to the conclusion
that I love imperfection.

I revel in filth,
in grime,
in the dregs of life
at the bottom of my tarnished cup,
in the Destroyed,
and the remnants of
beauty.

And despite all this,
I thrive on the ability of
the Good to bleed through
all of this.
And soak it
in some sort of meaning.

And that may have something to do
with the way I feel about you.

So, in my quest
to be more rational
about everything,
I've discovered that
verbal communication
is not my strong point.
The written word,
on the other hand,
may be
my best friend.
Complemented by intense contemplation
and the breakdown of
life
into its smallest components.

And time.

Oh, yes, lots of that.

poem.

Immortality
in black and white.
Serifed or sans.
The reduction of
all-that-I-am
to this collection of
disembodied words.
Can all-that-I-feel
be expressed
in a string of letters?
Or is this simply another
lame attempt at
leaving a mark?
A stain
that will be smudged out
by the next passerby...

breach.

A schism between mind and heart and body.
Refractory.
Irreclaimable.
Electric.
Oblivious, you are,
but you hold the reins.
You pull the lever
that rends me in pieces.

You tear me to shreds.

hesh.

"Love is blind,"
they say.
And I know that the body is only a vessel
containing truths greater than itself.

So why
am I so hung up
on exteriors?

biting the hand.

I’d like to think of you
as the mastermind of some nefarious plot.

A kind of demonic puppeteer,
pulling my strings,
sending me skipping towards destruction;
A depraved clockmaker,
winding my gears,
setting me ticking towards an explosive end;
Or even simply
a snake, lying coiled in my heart,
fangs bared and ready to spring.

But, no, you are no villain.

And I?
I am only the dog that grovels at the master’s feet,
begging for scraps.

Illogic.

If I ever loved anyone
for no good reason,
it would be you.

Now, that’s not to say
that there isn’t a good reason
to love you,

Or that anyone else
would not figure out these reasons
and therefore

Never let you go.

It’s just that
the way I love you
is in no way logical.

And Lord knows
I try my best
to be logical.

And I have tried and tried
to quantify this feeling.
To categorize it.

And fit it into a nice, little,
neat package.
Something presentable.

But there are some things
that can’t be shoved into boxes
or smudged out by the passing of time.

So I guess I’ll continue
loving you
for no good reason.

And perhaps that’s not
such a bad way to love,
or be loved.

Unconditionally?