Different Eyes

Picked apart at every seem,
  the past is on a timeline on repeat.

I dodge it, assimilating the new encounters that churn my curiosity....

  A failing satisfaction
and a constant shaking loose of everything I believe I know.

  For instance, I would assume that Love is not abundant in this world, that we all might need more..
but the outsiders in this world seem to be just as stimulated by distractions;

some of them illusions, some of them, mere bouts of attention grabs,
  one after the other, and then to the next.

Short attention spans, keep them half fulfilled,
while I have been gasping and barely undrowned.

   I loved, and now I keep my mouth mostly shut,
As I seem to never carry their attention long enough.

  Rather than communicating,
They had cut me loose rather quickly,

As uncherished as any stray dog,
  Saved and cut loose again.

  The past tells me a different story.
A story that reminds me,
  That I can not compete, so ancient and modern,

Against the shallow lure and glam and simplicity of the offered up.

To each of them,
  I was always "too" something.

Too sad
  Too sick
Too much to blame
  Too deep
Too loving
  Too much.

Too passionate about uncomfortable subjects.
  Too messy
Too behind
  Too ahead

So no...
  I do not know how to be loved.

I love well.  Love hard.
  And that is like having a different kind of blood course through my veins.

In his air however,
  A California graveyard...
I find nothing I need but some deep reservation in my own soul
  Tapped into upon threat only of souly death.

I chose not to die.
  But I awalk a life here that deprives me of the breath I was born to need.

  God took my only Angel, as will be taken others.
  So I pray now,

On my knees

For peace.  Unsure if happiness is beyond me?
  Beyond any wounded and tossed away.

If feeling unloved and untouched can be the kiss of death for an infant,
  How do we survive, those like me?

How does any starved force, keep living?

  I wonder these things when man chooses himself.
This is why I was afraid to love him.

And why I'm afraid to even have an opinion on you.
  Denying my undercoat,
I keep my head down, while you glimpse me.

  I don't want to do this again.
I already know I like you,

  But it always seems like it's their choice, and never mine.

You seem aware of your worth.  Confident.
  Even too much like a man.

How can I compete being so used to being tossed away.
 Loving you will hurt me..

And I think we both know it.