My lover,
He's sweeter than unprocessed honey.
His touch is softer than a puff of air,
But his jokes aren't funny
And he isn't Stephen Colbert.

You were never meant to be real
I dreamed you up when I was six or seven and dismissed you as childish folly by age sixteen
Trust me, boys were the most escoteric of social constructs
Put in place to make skirts shorter and hair longer,
Eyes bluer,
Entirely alien
So when you kissed me on the bridge overlooking the waterfall we'd just climbed out of,
As my hair drenched the old, rotting wood underfoot,
We could've fallen apart
People wake up from dreams, right?
Today, I can't remember how the story goes

i knew i had to leave him
not because i didnt care, because God knows I did.
but because he didnt inspire me
no words of love came to me when i looked at him
i did not think it was adorable how his nose was crooked
i did not think the way his hair flopped over was imperfectly perfect
i did not think that even in his saddest, angriest, or generally unhappy states that he was still somehow wonderful in a jaw-dropping, ‘god youre still so perfect even like this’ way.
i write poetry, thats what i do
and all i could write about him was how supportive and comforting he was.
it became one sided
being near him was draining;being with him was a chore.
i was becoming the type of person
that he would be writing the sad words about
i was giving him the distance
he could feel in his heart
even when we were together.
and i couldnt continue on like that
i couldnt let myself become a monster to him
one of the monsters even i write about at night.

Walking on the shores
With my bestie paws
Together we walk
While stopping to talk
Both our shadows meet
As we take time to greet
The sunset at the beach
My bestie at my reach
So cute and loyal
My best friend walks like a royal
A dog you can say
But he's my happiness all the way...


©sim