Solitude. Temperance. Tears.

whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

forgive me, father for I have sinned. forgive me, father for I will sin again. forgive me, father for these eyes that love the shadows more than the sun for these eyes that long to see a star or two or a million crumble from the sky in the hopes that maybe in the void they leave behind I will find a home again forgive me, father for these hands that do not know how to hold something precious      without shattering it to dust in my wrought iron fingers      without burning it to smoke and ashes from the hellfire in my veins      without shredding it apart and letting it bleed out over my serrated-edge nails      without strangling the life out of its trembling core in the hopes that maybe in the pieces of the aftermath I will find myself again forgive me, father for this heart that only knows how to beat on stolen blood for these lips that have forgotten how to smile, for these bones that should be  under a fading headstone  forgive me, father forgive me, father forgive me forgive me forgive me (so that maybe I can learn to forgive myself)

I am not what you see and hear.