My mind is full with conversations,
Yet it’s all so quiet

Could it be tunnel vision?
—I wonder,
as I see
they are running.
He kisses the hand
he’s already holding.
I could melt.
Way better than fiction—
Real life romance.

Could it be tunnel vision though?
—I wonder again, on the bus,
as I see
she’s shifting
her foot nervously—
and in a rare sight:
A sudden feet-hug,
his reaching hers,
containing and calming.

Could it be tunnel vision?
Or just a sweet foreshadowing?

It sickens me
How it occupied a part of my reason
The way I detailed a map of your heart
In exchange of
A sugarcoated rusty knife in my back

I want nothing to do with you.
I am comfortable in the memories,
safe, knowing I made it through.
Aware of the outcome.
Dealing with the consequences—
Of the bittersweet experience,
The terrible rollercoaster,
Of your intermittent affection.

I’ll imagine
I’m sending you a song
That I know
You’d love.
And in my head
we are dancing
to the rhythm
Of our once treasured
Now forgotten, bitter,
Love.

I missed that call.
And I knew
It was for the better.
You weren’t up
To anything good.
I knew
answering
wouldn’t lead me
to anything good.
And I wish It was
That thought—
the
Impeding,
rational force
The reason
for not
picking up,
But sweetheart,
honestly?
It was 3 am,
I was not that
mentally strong;
I just wasn’t
Awake.

My mother just told me
I’m constantly ‘a slave’ of my own words.
And I have to agree with her.
I can’t seem to ‘own my silences’—
as she so smartly puts it.
I know, I know.
I should ponder on
such valuable insight— yup.
Yet to me…
that was just short for:
 ‘You should shut up’

“So you are into words” he said
“That doesn’t make you interesting, I’ll cut to the chase”
I think of that for every poem I write
For every lyric of every song that gets to my heart