Love Letters to Nobody

I love the broken people. 

The unwanted and unpopular.

The characters and cast-offs.

Those made of porcelain not plastic. 

The unwanted. The lonely wife. 

The unpublished poet on a porch swing.

The unassuming. 

The fledgling artist.

The absolute ego-less.

The cheated. The nobodies. The abused.

The furballs and the maladroit. 

The ones who don't quite fit in

Who don't want to fit in. 

Those who howl at full moons 

And hide from the sun,

But aren't afraid of public pools

And communicable diseases. 

The dreamers and the downtrodden. 

Those who don't believe in social hierarchy. 

Those who don't wear designer clothes.

The brandless, not the name-brands.

Those who shop in thrift stores.

Who detest the absurdity of celebrity.

The counter-culture.

The weirdos.  

Those who read obituaries

And stop at cemeteries

To walk amongst the tombstones.

I love the perpetually lost.

The hopeless romantics,

Who still secretly have hope. 

The polite, not the rude. 

Those who aren't happy all the time,

But don't complain about it.

The sometimes morose.

The disatisfied but the grateful. 

Those who don't peddle a cause

Because they're told to. 

I love those who don't love their TV,

Or silly things like rhyming poetry. 

I love those who love the smell of an old book.

Those who aren't absorbed in a phone.

Or a mirror. 

I love those who love museums

And children. The born and unborn. 

Those who feed stray cats. 

And those who write love letters,

Even when they are love letters to nobody.   

I love those who go to bars alone,

Who aren't afraid to die alone

And who do so with courage and dignity.

Those who are humble and modest,

Not proud and arrogant. 

Those who don't covet or cheat. 

Those who crumble a little when they walk.

And speak truth when they speak. 

Those who sing karaoke, even terribly. 

Those who sometimes live recklessly. 

I love those who love fiercely,

Without apologies.

Those who make-out in public.

Those who make love in back seats of cars. 

Or in bar bathrooms. 

The indecent, but not the obscene.

I love people who aren't obsessed with wealth. 

Or a credit score. 

I love the imperfect, the misshapen,

The freckled, the scarred. 

The wounded that I hope to mend. 

Those who embrace their uniqueness

Rather than those who hide it. 

The courageous, not the cowardly. 

The Jew, not the Nazi. 

The timid, not the cocksure.

I love the loyal, not the unfaithful.  

I have glue for the cracks of the broken. 

I have salve for the wounds of the wounded. 

And stitches for the cuts of the bleeding.

And kisses for the pain of the betrayed.  

I have jokes for the sullen. 

There is no better medicine than lovemaking, 

And laughter in the dark. 

I love those who fear God

And who don't let the devil in

No matter how hard he knocks. 

I love those who don't give up,

Despite the enormity of everything. 

I love those who don't give up on me. 

I love those struggling in recovery.

Those who fight their demons. 

I love the brokenhearted because I am the brokenhearted.

I love as I live, humbly, not perfectly. 

I love because love is God and God is love. 

And God lives inside of me.