The silence is too loud-
the background noise is making my ears ring.

I don’t know how much longer I can tune it out.
I don’t know how much longer
I can control my mouth
from wandering away on your forehead
and your cheeks
and your collar bones.

I’m sorry if I end up picking you dry,
I just have a lust
for love that seems
to be perpetually unsatisfied.

It cannot be denied I am a fiend,
but to tell you what you do not know
would destroy my pride and
most likely cause your retreat.

How do we go about telling them how we met?
Am I just a bet?
Or just the best that you could get.

I can't help but be cynical towards your approach and
you unfortunately
meet the status quo.

The more I get to know you
the more apparent it becomes
I’ll never be able to control you;
nor will I want to.

My freedom is contingent on yours
as well and it may leave us
in a well

but then we will
finally be alone
and forced to talk and
what if you choose to break it off?

Well then off I go like I had planned for you
the whole time,
zip away on a plane like
I am riding white lines through
white winter skies.

When your hands are on the
insides of my thighs
I can only adjust in passive-
aggressive consent
that could easily
be misinterpreted-
either way.

Don’t let my terrible,
smooth,
icy skin
be the only reason you stay.

I am a hypocrite at best-
hand up my dress and
you biting my lips
like you know I like.

Is this what it’s like to be a grown up?
They say always a bridesmaid,
Well for me?

it’s always the couch.
Never graduating to the ascent
required
to tumble onto the pocketed recesses
of the spare mattress.

I often wonder if
I am simply
The World's Best Unpaid Actress.

C.e.M. 11.22.14