Credo

I believe in racket filled households, 
pots and pan residue.
I believe in, not only, but worship your
wandering fingers and destructive curiosity.
I believe in raunchy outfits, in the
slut’s wardrobe (all hail Paris Hilton).
In the whisker of trust and the 
whisper of betrayal, I pray to. 
I believe in love,
although I do not know what it means.
I believe I never will.
I believe that men should weep as women 
are encouraged to, I believe that science is real,
and as it told me, 
I will never touch an open wound with a dirty hand. 
I believe that poets exist to contradict dictionaries
(words are not defined)
Defined, like your shoulders sketched under 
the array of sunlight
that peeks from the kitchen window. 
I believe in you, and despite what physics tells me
I believe that atoms can touch each other,
extend their hands to my soul and 
twist it in whatever way they please. 
I believe in the beauty of distant balls of gas,
lighting the sky. Beauty is subjective and tortuous,
But I do not believe beauty is pain. 
I believe pain is living forever, there’s pain in
Eternity, deep rooted and canaled.
In belief, I trust. 
But trust, I do not.