Apr 2014
This much I know is true.
It’s 10 am on April the 13th 2014.
Despite the ruckus caused by me packaging my books up my roommate is still fast asleep.
I woke up this morning with a sore throat and a rage that boiled like the water I use to make my coffee.
I pretended to talk to you this morning, like I’ve done before, on mornings when the sun didn’t quite rise fast enough, and my eternal clock is stuck on the look on your face when you told me to leave.
“It’ll be hard for you to come back”
I heaved a slow breath from my lungs and told you that I was angry at your inability to talk about the elephant in the room.
“When the doors are locked, and you don’t have a key”
The way I see it, the locks we rusted and you didn’t really want to keep me away.
That being said:
I’m not in love with you.
This much I know is true,
It’s 10:15 am on April the 13th 2014.
I’m wondering if I’m actually going to send this to you, or just let you slide out of my life.
Like I had wanted her to do the first time you kissed me. But I wanted you to miss me, not the physical closeness, of course that was also nice, but just the way my smile widens my eyes, or the bashful way I play around the diabolical sin were in the middle of committing.
Not my soul, but the sound of my voice, not my heart, but the way it beats.
My roommate just woke up, it’s weird because I’ve started to put my life back into boxes, I still feel like I live in a fox hole, faithless. There is no god, I re-realize this fact when a book of poetry slips from my hand and lands on my foot, and I curse myself and continue taking things of the shelf.
I missed you, maybe the bitterness is just that I wanted you to miss me too.
Not because I’m your lover, but because I’m your friend.
Also, the *** was really good and I’d be kind of sad if that had to end.
This much I know is true.
Please believe me, I’m not in love with you.
It’s 10:30 am on April 13th 2014
I’m hungry and I want to get something to eat, this is the last verse and I can’t beat myself up about the things I wrote, I choked on my on imagination and when it finally passed and I could breathe I assumed it was best for me to let it be, and because it’s exam week and the stress has made me weak, I didn’t fight it, I thought that you had gotten bored with me and moved on, I thought it was kind of ironic that it had taken this long. That was a joke, self-deprecation, when I reread the poem I realized it was a lie.
Like all my poems are, stretching truths over spools of thread to weave around the language I’ve been given. Stumbling across synonyms and subjects, pulling inspirations from different interpretations and sometimes that comes off too strong, but know all along I meant it when I said.
If I get to close I’ll leave, I need you to trust that that is
as much as I know to be true.
It’s 10 am on April the 13th 2014.
Despite the ruckus caused by me packaging my books up my roommate is still fast asleep.
I woke up this morning with a sore throat and a rage that boiled like the water I use to make my coffee.
I pretended to talk to you this morning, like I’ve done before, on mornings when the sun didn’t quite rise fast enough, and my eternal clock is stuck on the look on your face when you told me to leave.
“It’ll be hard for you to come back”
I heaved a slow breath from my lungs and told you that I was angry at your inability to talk about the elephant in the room.
“When the doors are locked, and you don’t have a key”
The way I see it, the locks we rusted and you didn’t really want to keep me away.
That being said:
I’m not in love with you.
This much I know is true,
It’s 10:15 am on April the 13th 2014.
I’m wondering if I’m actually going to send this to you, or just let you slide out of my life.
Like I had wanted her to do the first time you kissed me. But I wanted you to miss me, not the physical closeness, of course that was also nice, but just the way my smile widens my eyes, or the bashful way I play around the diabolical sin were in the middle of committing.
Not my soul, but the sound of my voice, not my heart, but the way it beats.
My roommate just woke up, it’s weird because I’ve started to put my life back into boxes, I still feel like I live in a fox hole, faithless. There is no god, I re-realize this fact when a book of poetry slips from my hand and lands on my foot, and I curse myself and continue taking things of the shelf.
I missed you, maybe the bitterness is just that I wanted you to miss me too.
Not because I’m your lover, but because I’m your friend.
Also, the *** was really good and I’d be kind of sad if that had to end.
This much I know is true.
Please believe me, I’m not in love with you.
It’s 10:30 am on April 13th 2014
I’m hungry and I want to get something to eat, this is the last verse and I can’t beat myself up about the things I wrote, I choked on my on imagination and when it finally passed and I could breathe I assumed it was best for me to let it be, and because it’s exam week and the stress has made me weak, I didn’t fight it, I thought that you had gotten bored with me and moved on, I thought it was kind of ironic that it had taken this long. That was a joke, self-deprecation, when I reread the poem I realized it was a lie.
Like all my poems are, stretching truths over spools of thread to weave around the language I’ve been given. Stumbling across synonyms and subjects, pulling inspirations from different interpretations and sometimes that comes off too strong, but know all along I meant it when I said.
If I get to close I’ll leave, I need you to trust that that is
as much as I know to be true.
