Sunday, March 30, 2014

I want...

I want a woman whose words 
I can unscramble into my favorite poem 
whenever life becomes too thorny to handle. 
Too loud to hear the voices echo. 
Too rickety to reminisce on. 
I want to be remembered as the man 
with bloodstained hands from ripping poems 
out of his heart, even when he didn’t 
have a home to place them in. 
Not the boy who could never 
make it pass a women’s hips. 
Because although they don’t lie, 
the truth lies in places far beyond 
where the eyes can’t see.


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