Dude, We're Really Just Saying The Same Things

think of the troubled co-worker
that had to be slightly
snubbed

of the friend who had
to be allowed his
violence

of the loved one hollowed by
both mind and body
how anxiety
(i can't knock it, when it's life)

is inevitable evidence
still caring
for what can't be begged or touched
out of depression except as loss

bringing itself into one person, not two

there are these and others
and the lines sent are
helpful and accurate

but often i feel unsure we're
maybe too neat for
many people's hearts,

(i buy them a beer,
make them laugh,

but my peacefulness
preserves itself, doesn't

rub off, i wonder)

or maybe it's just that

i suspect pointing beyond
oneself is still somewhat

selective, because it's always
the shortcomings we

point away from, which
i have to admit i value

and look at frequently, since

they are what makes me
me mostly in my

brand new shirt and shoes, often

as for honesty, yes
it's not so important
as tact, which i increasingly equate
with soulfulness

but then again anyone can tell
"you're just being tactful,
and i'm lost, you

can't help, that's my job,
but how to start? who am i?"

and that, my friend, is the
feeling, the fully
defined mystery

that the whole, worth all
this adoration, selects
pains we care
about

to be apart from