Take me home,
Take me to the river;
Bring me to that tree that leans along the water,

let me watch the mist rise in the morning light,
while all the night’s creatures recede into their irriguous homes;

-Don’t let me be alone.

Take me back,
Take me to the long roads
That I used to walk alone in my disconsolate youth,

But let me walk with you.

Take me home,
Take me back,
Wrap me in nostalgic sounds
And the dusty floors of my parents house,
Where my father’s voice will close my weary eyes

Take me home,
To the 3rd street lights
With blessed camaraderie and the warmth of wine-

Take me home,

and stay by my side. 

You said you dreamed about her eyes last night,
And what you called The Unreachable Light,
And you wept with a bitterness that cracked your lips with salt.

Your voice breaks with vain repetitions,
as you wring your wrists in mournful frustration;
An impatient aching, the veins in your face a silent screaming proclamation;
I am a man at fault.
This is all my fault.

Your mind, riddled with sharp stalactites of cold indignation,
Condescending every other second with rhythmic dripping condensation,
And the sound it makes keeps you awake with miserable reminders of resounding blame-

(I have been dead so long.)

You cut your teeth on infidelity,
and you raged against the Lord,
“There is no sun!
There is no meaning!”
And you put out your eyes so you’d never see that you were wrong.

Oh to hate how great a debtor,
How small is your belief!
You said the end was without absolution,
But I think you know it isn’t true.


When I was little, I used to lie awake, deathly afraid, because I was certain that the sound of my pulse reverberating in my head was the steady stepping of an army,
The syncopated marching of so many feet just two blocks down my residential street,
come for me.

I used to rest my head on my hands in the afternoon and stare into the blue sky,
and I was scared that the floating spots in my eyes meant that my brain was being slowly stolen by alien life forms,
and it wasn’t long until they’d crawl down my spine and take control of my whole life-
(Would my mom know it wasn’t me?)

My siblings and I used to jump on the trampoline, but I was scared of flying too high above them,
I was scared of falling,
I had to keep my eyes peripherally peeled to the fences, where I swear I had once seen a set of fingers crawling over;
And I’ll laugh at the spectacular halo of static electricity around my sister’s head,
But my mind is with the man still hiding behind the fence.

When I was young,
I used to stand in front of the mirror and run my hands vertically down the sides of my body,
and I was afraid of the way they turned out around my hips;
I was afraid of the amalgam of obtuse angles, mathematically imperfect,
and I was afraid of what they meant
in regards to the way I was afraid to fall asleep alone,
and the army,
and the aliens in my head.



I do not want to be touched like a steering wheel is touched;

Or a guitar-

Like I am a machine, an instrument made of parts,

Like if you pluck my strings, I’ll sing for you

Like I was only created to get you from point a, to point b,

Like I was made entirely to respond to your urgings.

I do not want to be loved like a dog is loved,

Or a car.

Like I am the comforting warmth at the foot of your bed, or the meticulously painted frame you can’t wait to show your friends,

Because you still hope you can earn their respect.

My love, I want you to touch me because it is through my skin that you can cool the fear that burns me,

I want you to want my body because it is the artistic expression of the person God made me!

Do you know that God made me?

My love, I want you to love me because I AM the bones inside your body,

Because I am the ribs that curve around the softest part of your insides, protecting.

I want you to love the way it hurts to love me,

Because nothing worthy is painless,

and I am nothing if not worthy-

Do you know that I am worthy? 

I hope somehow you know

I hope somehow you know

I am not afraid to be alone. 

I’m not afraid of the empty passenger seat, or the isolated sound of my heartbeat in my ear, pressed to a pillow, where my face is turned toward the place you don’t sleep yet.

I am not afraid of that.

No, I’m not scared of the quiet. I don’t need to hear the sound of your breathing next to me;
I know that wherever you are is wherever you are supposed to be. And I miss you, I suppose, in an unconscious way, but I don’t fear the nights and days in between us.

They’re just hours.

They’re just minutes. 

Between you and me,
I see it;
Ink black,


Words you’ll later swear you didn’t mean,
But I’ll feel them,
Sinking deeply,
Creeping in between each of the promises you made to me,
Infinitesimally small,
Like the space between me and the wall you broke your fingers on.

I am not the idealistic dream you fell in love with me to be,
And I am not breaking your heart by breaking the frame you pushed mine into.
I am a living, breathing, incandescent human being

-and I need you.