Poem a Day in May 31: Finale

31 Days of having to look into the onion of my existence, layers upon layers

to peel and cry and cut through the complexity while trying not to laugh at

the comparison made to it and by an unhappy ogre who is trying to deceive

himself into believing that he is happy that there is nothing more than the 

analogy that he has just given to an jackass. 

Self-examination and inquiry is crucial if you want to know what your motives

were and are you being sincere about wanting to find love, be loved or at

very least have your words remembered as something more than "he was 

just a man and not much of a guy at that." 

It's like finding a box in your attic and then finding out that the person you stored

in there wasn't who you thought she was, that her taste in clothing is opposite

of what you had wanted to believe that those shoes and that lipstick did match

what you were feeling when you made yourself pack it all away in there, secretly

hoping that you would never have to see it again.

31 days learning that you might have started out as strangers but in the end of all

things that you could and would become friends and that you like the 

face in the mirror a lot more than when you went there to shave it, that while

the razor moved you discovered all the things that make your profile are 

noble and brave and kind and that you both deserve to be loved and that

a touch can carry more than just the pain of a slap or uttered rejection from

someone who is more afraid than you ever thought you could be.

Last night I dreamed that I would meet her and that it could be perfect-

that perfection was not what I had always thought it would be, not in crisp

clean orderly lines nor in the jigsaw pieces fitting exactly together but rather

in the proximity to just be close enough that a touch means more than just a

brush of body contact as if you are stuck in an elevator with a complete stranger 

and that you can embrace him instead of pushing yourself into a corner

just so that you can continue believing that it is just normal and you have

somehow saved your precious identity.

You both say "hold me' together and then laugh at the absurdity that makes

all that I have written mean more than just metaphors on the page. That we 

are all one in our need for belonging to something more than what we can

ever hope to gain on our own. This is what I hope all my poetry has shown.