I am a pretender.
Looking through a window that is slightly open,
so that a breeze winds in
with gathered memories
of subliminal pain.
And I'm lost
partially wandering on a plot of unknown sand.
With the sun no longer reflecting,
refraction.
A reddening burn
and a quickened pulse
aching *****
and held breath.
I know where I am.
I am a fake.
But I cannot go through with it.
If I do not in the "real,"
why lie online?
Why hide myself
and view myself
criticize myself in comments with names that aren't mine,
not even who I want to be?
Why do I ignore myself,
and let fade into lingo.
Because I am human
and I don't want you to know me.
Even when I want you to feel,
I want you to share this moment with me.
And that is why
I post these
discombobulating pieces of no reckoning,
non-entertaing, ultimate **** "poems."
Because I want you to understand this
me
in this instant.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 6:20 AM UTC
I am a pretender.
Looking through a window that is slightly open,
so that a breeze winds in
with gathered memories
of subliminal pain.
And I'm lost
partially wandering on a plot of unknown sand.
With the sun no longer reflecting,
refraction.
A reddening burn
and a quickened pulse
aching *****
and held breath.
I know where I am.
I am a fake.
But I cannot go through with it.
If I do not in the "real,"
why lie online?
Why hide myself
and view myself
criticize myself in comments with names that aren't mine,
not even who I want to be?
Why do I ignore myself,
and let fade into lingo.
Because I am human
and I don't want you to know me.
Even when I want you to feel,
I want you to share this moment with me.
And that is why
I post these
discombobulating pieces of no reckoning,
non-entertaing, ultimate **** "poems."
Because I want you to understand this
me
in this instant.
I don't like to reread. I don't like to rewrite. I like to keep it pure, so I can go back and look at who I was and what I wrote.
