Flaws and dissapointments,

failure, lack of sleep invading

rolling, turning in the mind,

these thoughts that often keep

us up at night and wondering

about how it will end.

They say to err is human,

good Lord I know that's true,

I understand that as a man

perfection as a rule,

is a falsehood often spoken

by the mouths of those who think

that just because they're happy

that they've found the missing link.

Rest assured that you'll be fine,

your broken plans define

nothing of the person you're meant to be in life.

And though we think that we can hide

behind the curtain we call "planning"

working, toil, pain, and fear

are a lack of understanding.

You were born broken,

and that's how you'll die.

That's the beauty of this fleeting fragile lovely moment

defined as human life.

importance is not found in,

who you are or what you do,

the love you give and share with others

and yourself will guide you through

the painful maze, this short-long daze

this evil, lovely time.

Carnal disease, defined? Dis-ease.

not many make it through

without a scar, or mark, some sign of attack

this truth is not subjective, nor is it a fact.

Life should be lived and loathed and loved and as

"perfection" may persist, we understand out mortal folly

is to explain why we exist.

Planning, worry, wasted time

these cancers in our lives "define"us,

taunt us, making us beleive that we can never be complete,

that we must acheive some goal that nobody can reach.

We hate out bodies, who we are

our souls remain unclean

for earthly worries dirty waters meant for swiming free

above the needs of id and ego,

beyond the thoughts of "worth"

within the realm of understanding that after death...

there is rebirth.

-CH

#anxiety #overcome #humanity #perfection #love

I don't write very long excerpts.

I'm afraid nobody would take the time to read them.

So I write my little blurbs.

Hoping, praying maybe one day I can read them

To a crowd, I would proudly address

That my life has sucked and been a mess.

But not anymore, not by then;

this is why I continue to pick up my pen.

A single drop of sweat dribbles down his lightly haired chest. He stops to cup a handful of river water, bringing it to his plump lips. His throat bobs as the fluid travels down. I cock my head to one side, eyes scanning over his milky flesh. There’s a glisten to his shoulders, his stomach, his neck. The pouch of his belly contracts with heaving breaths. I run my fingertips along his bicep and he follows my touch. His hand comes up to wrap around mine and I press a dry kiss to the inside of his wrist. The salt on his skin excites me. I lick up his forearm, tasting and devouring. He wraps his free arm around my waist, dragging me onto his lap. His lips find the juncture of my neck and shoulder, and his teeth follow soon after. There’s an aching heat growing in my belly. Recognizable. Primal. I hardly feel the pebbles digging into my knees as I grant him access to my mouth. His tongue maps my teeth, soft pallette, inner cheeks, and finally my own. His ragged breathing morphs to wheezing as he grabs handfuls of my hair. I use my nails to draw raised, puffy scratches across his back. He grows limp, head falling against my chest. I sigh, adrenaline still pulsing in my blood, and disentangle myself from his lifeless, yet still beautiful, form.