Reflection

When I look at myself for a long time in the mirror,

I stop seeing the visual me. 

My mind seems to become tired of my face,

Seeing only shapes and lines. 

Then, gradually, 

Even the abstract lines have no meaning for me. 

As my eyes begin to blur,

My thoughts take over,

And what I see is a mix between memories and thoughts. 

The real me. 

It's then I know how much of me,

Is made up of those people I love,

And have loved. 

I see parts of them in me. 

It's for that single moment,

That I can't dislike anything about myself,

Because I love the people who made me. 

Questioning look

I like the way he smiles at me.
I like the way it could be a question.
A question he thinks I understand,
But he's not expecting an answer to.
I like those people who don't expect answers.
Not just yet.

Rather not

I'd rather not talk about the last three months,
Because the descriptions you try and force now,
To explain even a part of the experience,
Can't do justice to where your heart and mind was.

Poem

Those days are gone and I miss them.
Full of words, I'd force pen to paper.
Creating sense in simple strokes of ink.
Understanding myself, and others.
Cleansing for the fresh day.
Crying 'til the hollow breath.
The pause means done - and sleep.
The deep breath, the release, and the poem.
Awareness.

Pick up

I had to laugh when the bar woman approached me.
She said, "The gentleman at the bar over there,
Would like to buy you a drink.
The one in the blue coat, just there."
That had never happened to me before,
And it seemed surreal.
Like it was a movie.
He was a sweet, but not so sweet,
23 year old from Louisiana.
Missing home and life
An extra from 'The Big Easy'.
"It chaps my ass." He said.
"Does it really? Do tell."
Replied the amused English lady.

Perceptive

Sometimes I amaze myself,
By my ability to think myself out a good mood.
To concentrate in negative things,
And to choose to prioritise those over the positive ones,
To worry about things that might not necessarily be true.
I was told too early in life that I was right, insightful,
Because now I'm always wondering,
If that dark thought I had was the perceptive truth.

Optimism (cowboy style)

On the journey back to the house,
Bernie told me the cowboy hat rule.
White for summer.
Black for winter.
The ones on the dance floor,
Or on the heads of the people on the floor,
Had been a mixture.
"So tonight, when folks can't decide,
Whether it's summer or winter,
Is the right time to identify,
Those who think half full,
And those who think half empty..."
He laughed, looked back at me,
Looked at his white hat on the seat next to me,
And smiled.