My blog is my most sacred and honest place. This is me, when I'm sad and happy and when I'm hiding away from everyone because life is a little hard sometimes. This is me, broken hearted and in love and when I'm not thinking about any of it at all. And this is me- transparent, no lies, no hidden meanings, no unnecessary metaphors. Me in all my nakedness, my whole being and everyone doesn't like that, and they don't have to. But writing what I write is my choice, and whether you want to read it or not is yours. So let's just respect each other like decent human beings.

And on that note, here is the poem for today, my version of Bluebird by Charles Bukowski. You can find the original here-
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bluebird/

Bluebird

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to chirp away
but they’re too tough for her,
they say, stay in there, we’re not going
to let anyone see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to chirp away
but they force manners on her and shout
till she goes quiet
and the lovers and the strangers
and the unknown faces
never know that
she's
in there.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
that wants to chirp away
but outside is too tough for her,
They say,
shut up, why should we listen
to you?
we don’t want to listen

to you
you want us to lock you

in a cage?

there's a bluebird in my heart that
loves to chirp away
but they’re too many, they only let her out
once in a while
when she’s not too loud.
they say, I know that you're there,
but stay inside

you’re not needed here.
So I put her back,
but she's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let her
die
and we sleep together like
that
forced by
a secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a woman
weep, but I don't
weep, though they

want me to.

'Desperate' is the saddest word I've heard
From even far away you know it comes with no good
You start walking in the other direction,
Lonely or alone, who can say?

But why stop a man who wants to love?
I, for one, love being in love and do it exactly like in the movies
Complete with my whole being, and heartbreaking honesty
I sing songs and click pictures and laugh too loud
And kiss like nothing else can remotely fill my empty soul
If I had a lover, that's what I'd call him- lover
Or honey in the soft passionate way of Andrea Gibson
I'd send three am texts with Neruda's poems and tell him I cried to sleep
He doesn't have to reply back immediately
I'd be painting gifts, taking parts of me out to create something for him
I'd write handwritten perfume laden love letters on pink paper
If he cries a river, I'd make origami boats to make him laugh
And I'd tell him he's beautiful so many times
That he'd forget he ever felt un-beautiful in his entire life
And I'd smell his hair.

But here is a conversation I must never have
Here is a truth I must never tell
And here is a feeling that must always stay
Hidden.
Not anymore.