In the drift...

Why do I love you,

  Ugly as you are—

     Insulting and defensive,

           Scar-maker and scarred?

                                                                     Others say “Because you don't  

                                                      Love yourself.”—but I do.      I know

                                       what I am, and I see your eyes whispering

                                      behind spears and shields, “I see you, too.”

Why do I embrace you,

  Distant as that feels—

    Your angled body technical,

         Your line-pull straining reels?

                          I feel you collapsing—because I'm with you;

         Your soul tied tightly on mine, while you “freely” spin.

I hold when you're drifting, call up through wrapped fingers,

And gather string when your tired sail come back in.

Why do I still chase you, when

 Reflecting on our time—

  Trust-degrading, peace-abrading—

    Trash piles in my mind?

                    “Sure,”   I  tell   myself,       “Keep walking,”

              Be alone, until you  find a wing    who treats you right.

      But I know myself, so wrapped up your flight-dreams

I ignore “does the world enjoy a razored kite?”