completeness

the window to their summer soul
sometimes swings wide open
vacantly displaying what they think to me

i catch a small glimpse
and feel as if
i can read minds

the shallow thoughts consistantly amuse
the meaningless fluff i encounter
loving the sheer banality of the mundane

yet the curtains are drawn
in retaliation i assume
to the hostility found in me

this is the only time
i can truly find
who sincerly feels kind
and wishes to know the essences of me

i can't bother to think
i'll ever quite grasp
the completeness of another

for i can't expect them
to ever quite grasp
the completeness that is me

the windows of our souls
have quickly in the winter months
become fogged with wasted breath

untitled

paint splattered
with the remnants of the afternoon's masterpiece
aching
stretched as far as they can go
from hours spent pounding the keys
polished with deep plum
to match tomorrow's socks
scarred right about the left thumb
from childhood
and summer

once you held this hand in yours
once you touched it with what you called love
but i never received it

my hands are as callous and uncaring as my heart must be
marked with clues
as to who i am
parts of me
you never quite bothered to see
not realizing or understanding
but who really understands?

if i had taken your love
would it have mattered?
not at all
for you haven't appreciated these paint splattered hands

free

to find my song
to sing along

refreshing
new
how did i come to this
i don't know
whether be apathy or
ignorance
i don't know
and i don't care

and for once
simplicity is enough.