I wish people didn't try to depict their lives as if it were in some crazy new technicolor. We're all here, the colors change their vividness depending upon your openness . However, don't fucking try to fake it. There's a million autobiographies to be written, that no one will ever give a shit to read. We've all read the best and worst of poets. It ain't real if you feel the need to put it on your mass mailed out holiday greeting cards.
Love the jackass annoying neighbor within yourself. You maybe feed them a few decent meals, maybe a beer or two. But you sure as shit don't let them in at 3 am when you're half naked and let them spoon you.
And there is love
This love is the way clouds weep during an afternoon in Spring .
The vociferant bellows that bring things together again.
The slow trickle of a thawing stream
And the turbulent rapids spilling into an endless sea.