It’s the way things aren’t mixing right
and powder spilled over the bowl…
It’s the way clumps stick to the spoon
and dirtying three while stirring…
It’s the way I blush wondering
if people would eat the cookies
if they saw me behind closed doors…
It’s wanting people to like them
and offer the high compliment
of a stolen second helping…
It’s the way baking reminds me
of so many clumsy first dates.
Shuffle and strut,
turning deficiencies
into new masteries.
When I was a younger man,
life was constant race
up a narrow staircase.
But these days feel like
standing in an open field
not knowing which way to go…
I am a breath, a voice, a song.
I am steps and sprints and stumbles.
I am a gentleman, a scholar, and a lover.
I am ideals and dreams and a journey beyond the horizon.
I am none of these if I can’t summon up the courage to be myself beneath the burdens of the world.
Running from my problems
as quickly as I could;
stopping to discover
they never left my side.
It’s a splash of color
in an otherwise empty room
and it makes my life fuller
by knowing it needs me too.
I’m poised above the page,
afraid to leave a mark,
for I won’t make an error
if I never even start.
Looking under the skin,
afraid to bruise a scar.
But that’s where it begins:
the truth of who you are.
I taste the fire and salt
that makes me race and halt
in your loving arms
and your seductive charms.
Darling, it’s all your fault.
You know it’s not your fault;
you needn’t bear the blame.
Open your battered vault –
stop shouldering the shame.
A (wise) man of two faces 