I want to grow all over you in spores

& spread across the surface of your skin

& when you caress yourself you can rub me in

to the splits & snaps as you dry & crack

&I can fix all the damage that you can’t give back

like a stain on your flesh leaving us all to guess

at the memories you’ve tried to repress

but everyday you’ll be forced to replay them

in your head and repay them in your bed

& we’ll all complain that it’s inhumane

to make us deal with your past pain

so slow your pace and greet every face

like a clean slate and maybe even

a possible mate that you can relate to

and share something with, make nothing with

someone to keep you wet in the winter

and protect all your inner most

thoughts from the frost-

 

or in another vein,

 

someone you can gain something from;

but what’s really inhumane is expecting us

to stay sane throughout this maze

when it’s so much easier to live life in a daze

with a haze of smoke clouding your eyes

so you won’t have to be reminded of

all the people you stepped on and the shoulders you wept on

after striking the gold mine of surprise;

we heard all your cries & held you through your lies

& now everyone expects something in return

but I just want to hear what you’ve learned.