I am Yours

A piece about being everyone else's muse.

This body

This mind

The remains of a soul

The deteriating beauty

The ashy hands

The wrist worn from shaking and waving

The knees rusting from mechanized work

The hamstrings torn from running

The veiny arms begging for a relief to be inserted

The crackling toes

The coca cola shaped spine

The bald spots hair can't grow to hide

The restricted faith

The faithless rations

The faith in rational that has been lost

The love for hoping to find love

The ineffective lover

The man with no self-efficacy

 

Has never been mines

It has always been yours

Whether an offering made out of love

Or a possession stolen by your hands

I have always been yours

 

I did not decide to be here

And since I arrived

I have not felt a welcome warm enough

To stop the chills from stampeding up and down my

Spine, quaking this mortal body

 

For if I had a choice in being here

I would have asked the old man who

Stays in bed all day with no one to talk to

Praying tonight be that night

That night that the realizations

Of a lonely lifetime are forgotten

And lost

If THIS would be worth my time

 

I would have asked the middle aged woman

Separated from the only husband she'll ever have

Who cries herself to sleep and begs God to have her

Reincarnated as a the syringe she lost her love to

If THIS would be worth my time

 

I would have asked a teenager who sits in class

Unable to concentrate with voices in their head

Screaming insults and hateful rebuttal

Because everywhere they go, they can't get home

Out of their head

If THIS would be worth my time

 

I would have asked a mere child

Born with muscular distrophy

Who can't even grasp a cup of water to

Quench their own thirst

If THIS would be worth my time

 

I would have asked a s**t

who hates men for only

Loving them as long as their arroused

If THIS would be worth my time

 

I would have asked God for a tour

To show me the right way that still hasn't been lived yet

 

I might have seen humans for what they were

Before I had no choice but to need them

 

But it is too late

So I remain yours

Hoping to someday offer myself as a gift to a lover of mines

And not remain a stolen possession

Sitting on some narcissistic conformist's shelf choking

On the debree of could'ves and should'ves

Contemplating what would be if only a million other coincidences

Happened and made life enjoyable.