I don’t know where to begin,
other than I look at the lay of the land
and see I’m still removing sand
from beneath my self stained plans,
even though I begin again and again.
Here I am a simple man
staring away at what lies ahead,
living dead to the things
my body and brain try to obtain.
Things which can’t contain love’s breath.
Things that softly sustain chains of self.
And there you are my love ready to remind me
of every time I failed and fell off the truck
or spit up the shit you sift and lift up
for all to see.
I really would like to be the man
you see in your dreams,
but it’s an unreal ideal
that you expect from me.
Time to be free and true.
I will never be the fictitious
you think you need.
I will be me.