They say

They have known me in one way alone.

They only know my smile.

Never my tears.

They don't know you.

But I know you.

I know your infinite worth.

I know what scares you

Better than you do.

I know the hurt

Caused by your hand

And I know the love I have for you.

But they think they know.

They say this isn't right,

And I should feel this.

I deserve that.

You should do this.

You must be so that.

They say a lot of things.

Well-meant things,

Experienced things,

But they don't know you.

And they only think they know me.

Is it really so wrong to be miserable?

Composite

You cannot deny what makes you human.

If one has needs, wants, and hopes,

How does one distinguish between them all?

Is hunger an equal urge to the desire for acceptance?

I am a physical being and my body has a chemistry in place

That I don't even understand.

I must be kept warm enough but not too warm,

I must be kept fed, hydrated,

Watered like a plant with no leaves.

I must keep my body in practice, be the master of my muscles.

As purely as I am physical,

There are things about me that are intangible,

A double heart, both beating and yearning.

What is sadness made of?

How do you clean it up?

Where is the hole gouged by loneliness?

There is some sort of equation going on here,

I'm certain of it.

Wooden pieces painfully nailed together

To build something

For some sort of purpose.

I am a tree. And I am the wind.

I am the place where you find the rustling.