a message that I 50% hope I get to someday send and 50% hope I get to forget about

Would it offend him (or you) if I took you to a show? I am aware that we have always just been friends. Don't get me wrong. I would jump at the chance of being your boyfriend because you're fucking cool. I respect how responsible and hardworking you are, and how you don't let the job you dislike kill your demeanor when we hang out. It's part of what makes you so fun to be around and so easy to talk with. I love that we can watch the same movies, while equally loving that our musical tastes differ greatly. I want know more about the music you like. It's happier than mine and (kinda) makes me want to dance. I like the way your face lights up when we explore haunted houses, and I like listening to you play piano. I want to know even more about your dreams, anxieties, philosophies, friends & families. And while it would be more rewarding for me if it were to happen with us being 'an item', I've become accustom to doing them as a friend... and I hope I can still do so because people as authentic as you deserve good friends... and if there's one thing that I may have mastered so far in life (probably to the chagrin of my own emotions and intimacies) it's being a good friend. I don't pan on not being a good friend to you (or anyone else for that matter) anytime soon.

Free Wrighte

"You look pretty cute... for an Arab" (worry)
"You look pretty cute" (truth)

I listened to Yuna before knowing you

We had our first awkward silent moment together tonight
It reminded me of my failure with women
Forgive me for it
I'm scared

It's a time bomb ticking away Hummingbird
you'll choose sooner than I am capable of moving
the pressure, the obligation, the elderly respect, it will get to you
You're scared?

A lab still barks when she's stuck in a kennel
and a sloth ponders every movement no matter where he lingers
I'll be your patience
You be my courage

انا احصل على المندفعين 

المرضى من ثلاث وعشرون سنة العزلة

السيدة احمد أنقذوني 

Closer

It's another one of my classic over-reactions
but this one is different
the connection that I strive for 
is haram to your God and spiteful to mine

And yet they are almost one and the same
your Allah, my Father

Devout in faith you are, as am I
we're both professed sinners, yet both feel saved

Can we be each other's saviors of the rejected holy man?
Would Muhammad and Christ embrace us?
Would our families accept the other?

The truth is, you bring me closer to God
your dedication to your truth
is a motivator to strive in my Truth further
A constant reminder that the goal is selflessness

I respect you too much to change you and so much to comfort you

An explorer looking directly into the Arab sand that blows in my face
within each speck I see beauty, morality, and difficulty

I'll ponder the thought while peering at the night's sky
A crescent moon glows bright
The north star burns brighter/beside it

Servant Boy

Victory has been promised to me
Through God first and foremost,
but by you as well

I trust He keeps His promise
I doubt you're aware you made one
I hope (pray) that I'm wrong

...it's just like the servant to think of his master in such a way...

God,

end the bitterness and resentment so I can properly serve the one you've called me to serve.

I want the victory to come so much sooner

 

The Moral Conundrum Of Just Being Friends

I want to write a poem for you today
But if I did so it would just fall
onto deaf ears and sightless eyes

Your eyes, they see sight
but not for me

You're right in front of my face
but staring down at your computer
thinking about another man

It's what I get for trying to win your love
with a cup of apple chaider and some nice words

I feel like cursing right here, right now
but I can't
Not in front of your face

Not in front of those eyes and ears...
which do not acknowledge my existence anyway

So if I get the courage (or cowardice)
I'll ask you how your lover is
and hold my true feelings inside

I'll let them mangle up my insides
and puke out into screenplay format

Cuz if there's anything worse than writing a poem for you
it's writing a script about me
and my anguish towards irony of our situation

I've been a loner for 21 years
I'll be a loner for more

God, you give me hope in small fragments, followed by bouts of sadness. Why? Why do you string me along such a path?

Aesthetic

Neon light shadows penetrate the deep
A heavy-hearted boulder plunges through them
Milky blue bubbles dance around the stone
They nervously dash to the Great Surface
The aged rubble begins to crack, then multiplies
Ocean waves turn earth's rock into sea baring comets
Crustaceans gather around
embracing each other, embracing sudden impact
Dust shifts in all directions
moving through the blue hue at the speed of a lit fuse

Valor

Left for dead in the middle of the night behind enemy lines

Left at the alter on his wedding day for another woman

Left with two children and a house payment while working two minimum wage jobs

Left in a sticky situation involving two friends who no longer love each other

Ascend above circumstance

Forgive

Fight

Control

 Overcome

                      

Map of Bones

Underneath his concrete cave
the worm's darkest secrets rest

filth, mud, muck, and files
Files filled with fragments of former flames
and of fictional friends

Oh, how the phallic creature snuggles in them
Reliving thoughts faded by a foam he keeps
locked inside layers of lard that he lavished
since launching them out of the landfill

Lucid dream erect from such emotion
engulfing the animal's estate in
ernest earnings of earbud, elixirs,
enraged pheromones, end-times entities,
and erroneous exercises in juggling

(She's Got) That Alternative Look (To Her)

If a horse were to chew rainbows,
wear dresses, drink tea, and cease to smell,
then men would never be loved by women.

...unless that woman happened to be a tomboy.

Tomboys like to eat rainbows. Eat rainbows for breakfast.

And spit them at the faces of those punks.
Yah know, the one dimensional, plastic boob
covered bimbos who steal attention away from
men who don't know any better.

Let the bimbos have them.

You'll wait for something better.

Lion In A Coma (Flannel Princess)

Studying your neckline turns eyes into cement mixers
They twirl in stimulating bliss from the vision before it

I know you notice

but do you care?

I'd kiss your wrists so my lips could taste the pulse running through your veins

... would you spare me that moment

Your words (spoken and written)

Thrilling

Your clothes (your own or borrowed)

Rousing

Your drive (present and future)

Inspiring 

Your morals (taught or formed)

Exhilarating

All of this,

when lingered on for too long inside a man's consciousness becomes...

Dangerous

Bone

Adam waited for his Eve.
He waited 21 years, searching through the Ellens, 
and the Ediths and Emmas.
Looking at them briefly, but always letting them pass by.


He waited patiently for his bone,
the rib she would one day give him.
Though his side ached and his heart sank
he waited in faith.


When his Eve came he rejoiced, 
and he turned his every focus towards his love.
Every thought became consumed with her.
Every inch of his being ready to serve the one he waited for.


But she wouldn't give him his rib.
Or even an extra moment of her time.
Eve told her Adam that she hadn't found him yet,
that she didn't want to find him.


While Adam sat restlessly
Eve jumped for joy.
"My Adam won't come for five or ten years,"
she proclaimed.


Adam kept trying to gain his Eve's attention,
to no avail.
So he gave up,
leaving his rib in the body of innocent cynicism.


Between five and ten years later
(If I were a betting man I would say closer to ten years,
this Eve was jarringly stubborn)
she became ready to find her lifelong lover.


She searched through the Alexs, 
and the Aubreys and Andrews.
Briefly flirting with each one,
but finding her rib not fit in their ribcages.


After a long trek filled with loneliness and despair
Eve died, alone.
The bone that wasn't her own 
punctured her stomach.


In the City of Zion
she walked through the masses.
One day Eve bumped into a man,
the man who once proclaimed himself to be her Adam.


As he stood in the filled city street
(with his good friend St. Thomas, 
I might add)
She asked him how he died.


He replied,
"suffocation",
then walked away,
ready to be comforted in the arms of his eternal lover.

It's easy to say you're waiting for the right person when you think you already know who the person is, and are just waiting to reel her in.

Stilted Growth

I use to eat my heart out whenever I wanted

But the motion proved prosaic

The feeling stale, yet still longed for 

I abandoned the craving

Plotting out a lucid self in replacement

To service what I will someday covet wholly 

That covet schemed against me

Hardening what ought not be hardened

Testing my will, my all

Though the fantasy was present

Discernment shackled it back

Defending the mind that cries out in lust too often

Bad Dialogue

I keep thinking about your lips
and how happy I make you feel
...in thought


Reality, someday, maybe