make you happy all the time.

I can’t

make me happy half the time.

I can’t let go, all my memories,

my heart-notes

of demands that gloat over me,

pressures of the work, the study, the thoughts

that

(I automatically presume)

So blackishly fume

from the others (though it’s me demanding most of the time).

I’m incapable of maintaining my own brand of perfection,

Don’t always express brotherly affection (or correction),

Maintain half-hearted simultaneous isolation & connection

By what I can’t express, by my words.

my music.

my actions.

But what I can do,

the pen-ultimate do of all doing I can truly, to the end, see thoroughly through

is surrender:

Surrender my I can’t-s,

Surrender my non-control-s,

Surrender my half-assed, this is my drama I’m writing/starring/producing defense mechanism mask of a role:

In my words, in my music, in my actions,

In my imperfect I can’t-s,

I find wondrous room for others’ I can’s.