I run my hands
through the grass,
feeling it's genuity,

Knowing the dirt
is underneath my nails
and bugs crawl along.

I feel it
because I want to feel real,
and real things feel.

They feel pain,
they feel pleasure,
and they feel touch.

I just wanted
to remind myself
that I am real,

And I can feel,
I can touch,
and I can be.

You ask
Why I treat
You like
A stranger.

It is because
Your voice
Doesn't sound
Like it did.

Your features
And mouth
Don't glide
Like they did.

You look
Different,
Worn out,
Strange.

I have never
Been met
With such an
Empty expression,

And I simply
Do not
Recognize
You.

I must admit that
I try to ignore
Any urge
To look over at you.

I resist looking up
When you say something,
Or acknowledging
That you have thoughts at all.

I pretend that you
Don't exist
And never existed
In my territory.

Because looking at you,
And remembering how close
We lay at one point,
Haunts me.

It tugs my heart,
It slaps my face,
It wakes me up,
But I ignore the urge.

All of my thoughts had been in secret.
For time and time again,
I let my emotions go unsaid.

I did not want you to collapse,
And no matter how hard I tried,
I did exactly what I didn't want to do.

I broke your heart,
Actually, I shattered it.
I just wanted to lay it down.

However, I guess I squeezed
Too tightly
Before I let it go.

You looked right past me,
Actually, you didn't look at me at all--
Not in my direction
And not in my eyes.

I had to write a poem,
Because you couldn't bear
To hear my voice
Or watch me say it.

I disappointed you,
And I am so sorry.
I wish that you had at least
Let me apologize.

I could live multiple lives
And make up for all the sins
I'd ever committed,

But in none of them,
Will I ever
Deserve you.