Letters to Dandelion by Xve Page B

clown doll of life
    who always seems to stand back
up after a decent thrashing.
     
     
     
    As I write these words, from my heart,
    you are already bleeding, and I can
already see a brand new start that’s not
    so fleeting..
     
    But a start to what?
     
    As, all women are completely lost, just
like you.
     
    So, that start is a world of travel
    away. And there’s just no point in
    asking for directions to nowhere.

Reckoning
    As
I clipped my finger nail,
    at
4:30 in traffic,
    little
did I know,
    by
5:30,
    my
heart would be bleeding,
    from
to someone whom I would
    be
speaking,
    as
she mercilessly cut
    my
heart of flesh
    out
of my chest,
    with
words, I duress,
    because
I shared with her a
    silly
notion, that her Sister,
    I
was deeply in love with.
     
    I
got the usual, I was called
    a
sick stalker,
    and
a pervert
    and
a loser.
     
    I
was told I was so co dependant
    and
a fool,
    and
I didn’t know her as a person,
    and
as the well inside, felt the
    tide
begin to rise to cry,
     
    I
apologized for interrupting
    and
simply asked,
     
    What
harm have I done?
    To
anyone.
    By
being willing to be tool,
    by
having some sort of human hope,
    by
saying something that
    there
is such a world full
    of
worse to someone to say.
     
    For
being able to want to
    envision
a future with a person,
    of
reach out for happiness and love,
    in
being proud to claim the other
    as
each our very own.
     
    Why
in this world, in this air ocean
    of
taint and black, that has become
    the
human psyche of cause and
    affect
towards one another, why
    is
it so outlaw, so criminal, to
    say
you love someone,
    and
dare to hope for it to be
    returned?
     
    Funny,
I have been told, that
    you
are not in love, when the
    other
doesn’t ratify the contract,
    or
reflect the favor or sign the
    deed
of.
     
    But,
when two people meet,
    no
matter how, and one has
    the
feelings and the heart,
    to
open the window to the
    soul
and share that secret,
    standing
there, exposed,
    hoping
for acceptance,
    asking
to be forgiven
    of
their shortcomings ,
    eyes
closed because of
    fear
of rejection,
    quivering
and shaking
    due
to fears of the past,
    must
the final blow be –
     
    to
be ridiculed?
    and
mocked,
    and
scorned,
    and
insulted,
    must
the final action be
    to
ask forgiveness
    from
having any feelings
    at
all?
     
    Must
being in love, always
    feel
like being hit by a truck?
    with
spiked tires, and a belly
    of
flames under the transmission?
     
    Yeah,
I now, these are my ever
    stupid
comparisons.
     
    And, I know, no one is listening.

She don’t care
     
    To her, I’m just a working stiff,
    a lament,
    a fool.
     
    Maybe she’s seen things happen
    and on a grandeur scale,
    that’s why my just words fail,
    and she doesn’t care.
     
    No matter how hard I try to
    impress, she’s got bigger and
    better fighting for her dress,
    of which, I may only get to
    hold when it comes flying
    off of her.
     
    So, what am I doing? A yipping
    puppy, clamoring at her feet,
    as big horny dogs sniff around
    for play.
     
    She don’t care about me,
    She don’t see me,
    She don’t need me.
     
    As she swims the ocean without
    a paddle or land in sight.
     
    Even if I sweat blood,
    it would be a laugh,
    had a stroke? A bigger joke,
    or fell of the signature of the
    universe into the silent abyss
    of blackness.
     
    She don’t give a fuck,
    shades of her house are
    drawn,
    and to her, so am I, just a wire
    frame of hollow existence
    and pointless rhetoric speak.
     
    You expected me somewhere to
    say Geek?
    You so typical, a moral
    mother fucking reader.
    No wonder why I’m the
    writer, and you’re out
    to dinner.
     
    Funny, she don’t care,
    she’s probably sitting
right next to you.

I
have nothing to offer her –
    So she has nothing to say.
    I have nothing to give her,
    So she has nothing to gain.
     
    I
have no ladder to elevate her,
No rope to pick her up.
    So, in her mind, with me,
    she would only seem to drop.
     
    So, there is no conversation, only
    hard silence and an ice cold