Even on sunny days that are filled with cheerful banter
I find it virtually impossible to find within me any kind of laughter.
Stare in shocked confusion at their apparently easily
achieved acceptance; because grace is still obtaniable
for them, I suppose- silently I regret my personal history
wish to God I'd kept a better score sheet.
Instead of who did me wrong, I should've detailed
in some depth to who it was I was hurting or still do hurt.
Now 40 days & 40 nights could not drown
me; for my lungs are already filled with an uncertain
remembrance of tears which are backed up behind
my mouth- that dam I savvy devised over these demented
years in order to help block the hum of my true thoughts
ability to leap from fiction to fact; because these passions
within me are almost extinguished& me still so young.
Design a blueprint to reconstruct myself, to maybe find
in another a feeling of adoration; yet, with full conviction
I do not doubt this is all but a pipe dream; 'Cos there is evedent
evidence of my vanity in each simple attempt I take in smiling.
Even on this sunny day I can't partake in the bonding
that develops with friends and lovers, a relationship
for I need to keep my lips sealed in order to mask this pain;
because it is so unfair of me to find comfort in another person's skin-
this pathetic monster I have become isn't easily digested with acceptance.
No, in fact it's taken me a quarter of a century to accept my damnation;
& now, now I find pride in my terrible deeds & grown to not regret anything.
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