the over-functioning reservoir
of matter-the-fact delusion,
so that we can stay on the same sides
the crisp 5:35pm streetcar calls
over the sound of your Youtube videos
awkward dances around topics
we forget to make happen
and future promises that we can’t keep,
because feelings are awful
and neither of us have any left

you call me a hopeless romantic,
but at least you’re calling,
and you’ve been right for the first part,
because only an idiot hopes for things
like kisses in a BMW over french rap and
broken sentences at midnight.
the muted expressions between
muffled apathetic prose of wanting.
and i can’t help but believe i deserve otherwise,
indifference and cold shoulders.
instead i’m confused with what it means,
saying things i don’t mean.
reading between lines of madness
to guess peoples feelings -
why am i always surprised, crushes hurt.

will they always be callous and unfeeling,
cold shouldered and brooding,
teeth clenching at what's most logical?
and if this, then am i the climactic contrarian -
carrying every emotion so viciously,
that you tell me, i must be lying?
it's okay that i will never know peace like them.
because when i feel a strangers sigh,
a mothers eyes watering tightly with her pram,
the business mans shoulders folding into himself,
i can barely escape the envelopments of living.
some days my tears fall because of their pain,
on good days they pool because of an embrace,
and few days they fall for the discontented,
because what a sad life to only feel for yourself.

i don’t miss you on a Wednesday,
when i call into work sick and tired
and i can’t get up to put on the kettle.
if i faint now, who will find me?
so, i don’t miss being loved, hardly,
always when it’s stiff and inconsistent.
rushing through me, to better plans,
past the feelings i had to hide tightly.
i don’t miss the nights you rubbed my back,
and i could rest in your dependancy,
instead of reeling out what i never have.
i don't miss you at all these days,
despite my awkward tendencies to write like i do,
but once in a while i wonder what love felt like,
sometimes i think he wonders too.

affection feels like running with scissors,
jagged lines between comfort and longing,
forgetting self-control and remembering
the awkward scripture for vulnerability.
no one has ever held me for long,
always sitting on the brink of disaster,
edging my unconscious homeostasis.
cutting up the unwieldy girl
for a comfort that has already matured.
practicing how to hide my sharp parts
while he’s still reaching out for me
with all the arms of a Hindu god,
wondering why i can't hold hands
with someone who’s seen all of me -
maybe i’m just too much to hold.

I was never there in your vintage sweater,
standing at the convenience store
when you failed to toss the cigarette out, or me.
I was never there when you got us pizza,
and we did the same walk four times
just to see each other in a different light.
I was never there after you got the news,
and you looked like you were crying
when your mom called and I left quietly.
I was never there when you laid asleep,
picking up my clothes softly to tie up
the loose ends of whatever we were doing.
I was never there,
because I never let me stay to begin with.

silly to fall for you again
under the abrasive Pizza Pizza lights
with your childish blue Old Navy thrifts,
and again at the market picnic benches
where you said you didn't want me.
through prolonged stares about
what i meant last month when i left you -
you’re questioning why i don't follow you home?
i hope this is the last time again,
bringing a man to Red Room and my face
turning the same conspicuous colour.
when i tell you i have a stupid crush
and you don't even say it back
because you know that i know,
that you know too well, it’s true.
so, do we both have to have trust issues?
you’re calling me babes over dm's,
while we laugh at each others dad jokes,
except it's not all colloquial sayings this time.
if i have feelings for you, will you still think i'm funny,
or like us is it just mutually exclusive?