I assume you’re not gonna call back —
trauma says, “Why would you?
Don’t you see my flaws?
Don’t you see my fears
written out in flowers and bulbs?”
Ballpoint pens do not lie
like the rest of the world,
like my mind hearing you say
I am pretty, or I am adventurous,
I am, I am…
How about you tell me for a change,
don’t let me give my hopes up
but chase me instead–
I know that’s problematic.
But we’re both runners.
(I don’t like admitting that).
I assume — don’t you see
and the truth is if my mastery of sound
bites is greater than your impatience
for the uncertain, maybe I have a chance…
Maybe you have a chance…
Because I see, too.
If you just talked out of your ass
that’s one thing — but you paused,
read your thoughts, chose your words,
and said them! To my face!
In a bed, three years of friendship
I will not go skiing.
I will not go see your band,
or whatever men are up to
in a year or two.
I will add you to a list of what-ifs
and I will see you again–
in passing, not friends.
You can’t just lay half your heart
out on the table, my friend.
I can’t, but you can, so you did.
Because it’s easier.
Because you’re not as brave as you look.
Are our hearts not supposed to
break a little,
after every lost moment?
Are we supposed to minimalize them,
dead grandma in a shack,
bury her before the police comes — run! run!*
At least I have a beautiful line to carry with me.
No one has ever told me I look like a painting.
Or maybe they have…but not lying on a bed.
Because it’s not a big deal, right?
Little lapses of judgement
where heartache dissipates,
feelings exhale, share themselves
outside their owners
what a privilege to be the one
the thoughts were about,
to be there, ready, receiving?
A fucking painting.
We all are, no?
*Last night I saw the film Shoplifters and it was truly great. This line refers to the movie – apologies for the possible spoiler – you should still go see the movie!
January 11, 2019