I'm prone to bleeding

for strangers,

the homeless guy

I had a smoke with

and talked to for an hour

at that stoplight

in Indianapolis,

the girl that walked up

and asked if I had a spare,

back at the hotel

the man evicted from

his house - he got a pack.

the drifter, I drove

for hours as he slept,

refusing money and food

out of guilt.

or the couple

starting out, pregnant,

with nothing, got a car

and a stove. or 20 bucks

to the grungy dude

with the sign.

but the rest, I tend to avoid,

not the wife and kids,

the others,

to them I'm cold.

maybe low on hope,

too many offerings

to those close that meant nothing,

like it was owed.

I tend to isolate

within safety where I

can bleed for the broken

without fear of betrayal.

the way I treat people,

a strength and weakness.

if they ever collide,

I'd be more normal,

maybe better,

but less content.

My greatest strength

is my greatest weakness,

one and the same.

There is no fierce war

The War of the Roses

So to speak

We cohabit effortlessly.

If only others would accept

that my flowing creativity

my passion and dreams

my absentmindedness

my self-absorption

my gazing at the ocean

for hours on end

my writing snippets

of thoughts on

handy napkins

at dinner parties,

irrelevant words unheard,

is what matters to me.

My creativity,

both my weakness and strength,

will glide by my side

as long as a spark

lingers in my body,

essence of who I am.