It Had To Be You

I'd like it if he were tan, all year 'round - you know, one of those aggravatingly gorgeous men who has skin just brown enough to look sexy and not at all like leather.

But that doesn't really matter when it comes to the man I want to end up with. These things do:

He'll be charismatic, the kind of confident that spills out of his laugh lines and messy brown hair. He'll be independent, someone who doesn't NEED me, but WANTS me. He'll never tell me he can't live without me, but I'll just know he doesn't want to have to. He'll see me as more than a friend and all around kick ass woman, he'll see what I don't show - my talents, fears, desires and dreams - he won't be afraid to look right at me and tell me I'm okay, just as I am. He'll argue with me, passionately, both of us sure we're right. He'll be smart enough that every once in a while, I'll give in and agree that he is indeed right.

He'll be passionate about something other than me and God - an instrument, a hobby, a vision for something bigger than him, bigger than us, something that broadens our view. He'll make easy conversation with just about everyone, always finding that common denominator to make others feel at ease. People that cross his path will feel his heavy presence, loaded with empathy and urgency - a real man among men. He'll laugh with me and at me and he'll do it often. He'll enjoy his life before and after me - not waiting for me to come along and complete the equation, but delighted that I've enhanced his enjoyment of things. He'll be a man of integrity and strong morals - unwavering and uncompromising - he'll fight for what's right.

He'll stick around forever, because he WANTS to and not because he should. He'll love me fiercely, passionately and consistently and he'll never make promises he doesn't intend to keep.

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Faces Of Waste

I've been places where the end of the rainbow gets lost in the bustle
And children are neither cherished or forgiven
I've seen lights so bright they expose secrets
So deep and so hidden, hands recoil

I've looked upon beauty with mild amusement
As it's manipulated into art
And wondered aloud if anyone hears me
When I ask how the hell to get out of this place

I've hated the hated and been lost with the lost
Myself and some stragglers
More in common than booze and regret
A kind of hidden facet of myself explored in another

And I've loved like a child, reckless and wild
Foolish and ever so blindly assuming
Confident and terrified, uncertain and messy
Because I'm neither cherished or forgiven

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