perhaps
if i made myself
scarce, scared
sacred--
i'll become
wanted
uninhibitedly.
i already am.

a look of entendre at
intelligence,
perhaps deeper than
my own [but mountains
are enormous]-
those giant eyes
i only wish were on me
always but only with
love always

a look of anger, admittedly,
but only for a second-
think i saw
you slow down as i focused
on the floor, your speech imposed-
my glance, again- of sadness,
now,
for he who i'm so scared
to love
gives me another tiny fright.

neither of us broke even
we both walked out with
pockets extracted from pants
validated parking,
painfully pounding out a new
way home.
our past, unchangeable.
mistakes are made.

i know i know I AM.
i AM- or at least i
feel like i am-
realizing when the ***
is too hot, when to
take my hand off,
when to use a ***
holder.
lately though i don't
feel like i can crack
an egg on your edge
let alone cook a meal
without you burning me.

a fan quickly sweeping
the trapped air of
breakfast nook, spite &
malice. reduced to what
holds my interest,
that which i am guilted
for most.

a hand held is a hand held
not held to a handheld
- a hand that won't let go
but its hard to love
when- almost to the
point of thinking- you're
looking up to what's looking
down at you.