Lit.

It's hard for me to look
like a gentleman
in her eyes when she smiles,
I can't help
myself from thinking
that she knows
what's on my mind;
I've always been so open
with my emotions
whether I'm calm,
or the weather is violent.

Maybe I want her
to read my work,
or maybe I'll just go
berserk
over
thinking how she speaks;
beneath my lines.

I haven't found a way
to talk to her
about the things that make
me afraid to trust a woman
with my crumpled paper
heart.

Hell,
maybe love
has been sucked
from my bones like marrow
since they've been broken
by sticks and stones,
because so many names
have hurt me,
left me to bleed
just a little longer
than it takes to heal
my wounds.

I keep my scars covered
with ink though,
so that when we embrace
she can't see my pain
until it blows away
in the breeze.

There's a fire
on the beach
and I can't help but think
that she could light up
my dark life.