Anti-Hero

As I sit here and ponder my life
My heart full and my stomach empty and my head
full of little battles and little strife,
I can’t help but think to rest in bed
But never is this mattress
Just filled with one body
My empress
That thing that makes me a bit cocky
Waiting for me with open hands
Warm, smooth
And never would I have to stand.
Never would I have to stand.

Stranger things have happened though
As I continue to and fro
My heart has fallen
And has equally risen
From Loveland to Holland
From Hate-ee to Prison
And that’s what I continue to write about

I cannot stop it
I cannot contain it
I can only direct it.
Like a champagne bottle ready to pop
Like the clouds read to rain
Grab an umbrella and just expect it.

Their hearts beat in tune
With the tunes I make
Their veins flow like the ink
I put onto the page
Their smiles and their quirks
Go into each and every one of my works

And at first,
I was tired that each verse
Like a curse
Included the wondrous bodies capable of birth
And death alike.

But if they are my muse, then who am I
To blame my tools.
I am merely a brush in this world
Of strokes
Of strikes
Of strong
And of strictness

So continue to pelt my heart with arrows
Continue my cliche ways
My lazy days filled with
Far off gazes
And fantasies of the young and hopeless

I’ll continue to write, half-focused
Half broken
But completely aware
That my words are mainly to share
For the girls,
(And that occasional dude)
That capture my heart in some
Rapture,
That request no longer a presence
Of an actor
Or laughter
Or even a poet or a writer
Or a musician.

Just me,
Talking to you.
Words.
Words.
Words.
And hey, maybe you can talk too.
Or even write to me.