Screen Doors On Brick Walls; I Build Both

Broken bones.
They don't bend the way we'd like them to.
Can I bend you?
Not to your breaking point,
But almost.
I don't know that part of you.
Not yet, but I'd like to
Explore it.
Just a taste.
Just so I could see what shakes you.
I would never shake you,
But I want to see you shaken.
I don't completely understand it.
I don't completely understand you.

Like sleep.
I like to sleep.
It's neccesary,
But what do you do when you sleep?
Why can't you stay still?
I woke up and found you contorted,
I woke up and found you
Bent.
But I never saw how you got there.
I want the process.
The whole process
Why you are you.
I want to know what bends you.
You'll just have to trust me.
I might bend you,
I will never break you.
Promise.

Around and Down, but Never Over, Never Over Me

Rain, rain. Don't go away.
I have a crush on you,
Though you are awfully unpredictable.
Always coming whenever you wish,
Never leaving until you are done,
Why are you even here?
Why? Hmm. . .?
If you don't mind me asking.
I know I ask too much of you, but
You never answer me.
Tell me your story.
Where did you come from?
Was it rough growing up?
You give me no choice but to ask
Because you smother me.
I look right;
You are there.
I look left;
There, too.
Dare I turn around?
I don't have to.
I feel you trying to drown me,
Dropping on me and seeping through
The small opening between my neck
And the fabric under it.
What are you trying to prove?
That you can get inside of me?
Or under me,
Or over me?
Should I let you?
If I let myself become vulnerable,
Let myself become overwhelmed by you,
Just for a moment,
Would I cope more easily?
No. Not at all.
Decitful, you are.
I'm on to your little games,
Your thievish trickery,
And your tricky mockery.
Saying "I dare you, Daniel.
I dare you to stand up to me,
To not fall down when I surround you
In the pity-party of sky-fallen tears."
How rude.
I do like a challenge, however,
So I accept.
Dear rain,
May I have this dance?

Feeling Philosophical. . .

If attention was cheap, we would never have to pay for it. If attention was free, then it would not mean as much as it does. Everyone knows that I am a talker. I talk to you, you, her, him, them, them, all of them, and myself. One trait I have always tried to master was listening. Talking and listening are like complimentary colors. They make each other stronger. I do not have much to say today, but I have much to hear. That is the trick to becoming a successful conversationalist. Moderating and alternating between talking and listening provides for a well-rounded colloquial experience. Experiences make the man (or woman).

Random other thoughts in sonnet form:

Turning the pages to pass the time
Dante's Inferno is on my bed
I'd love to read funny rhymes
But I chose this book instead
What makes a book a classic?
Archaic words in old syntax?
All of these books are tragic
Reading them is relapse
They always seem to die
None by natural causes
What drama interests the eye
Gathers all the appluases
If I never live another day
At least I got to live today

 Haiku time:

I wrote this morning
I can not name my sonnet
Name it for me, please =]

P.S. Do something fun today that you would not usually do. Anything really. Get carried away ;]