My love’s an angry guard dog on a chain.
My hate’s a warming campfire in the cold.
My feelings never make it to my brain—
They melt and harden in a bullet mold.
My afternoons are what I take a nap in.
My nights are all about the exploration.
The disappointment when it doesn’t happen
Is ten times stronger than the expectation.
I hug the chaos but I hate the shoddy.
I love tradition but despise the rut.
Only my fingerprints are on my body.
The doorway to my heart is rusted shut.
Yet they will all dissolve, these fears that freeze me,
When someone looks at me and truly sees me.
Copyright 2017 Matthew J Wells