recently
I got a little older,
learned a lesson or two,
like how loving someone
could never be as poetic
as I wanted it to.
like how nothing
would ever be as poetic
as I wanted it to.
how can I accept
that the miracle of love
isn’t really a miracle at all?
how can I wrap myself
in someone’s arms
when I know
that there isn’t any sort
of poetic loving involved?
how do I unlearn
the romantic thoughts
that taught me
about the fireworks,
the butterflies,
and the fluttering fingers
in the dark.
and accept that
maybe kissing
won’t be as spiritual as I thought.
maybe it’s really just a mouth on mine.
how do I unlearn my innocent heart
who lulled me into a false sense of hope
for a lover who would call
the way my body moves
art.
a lover who would feel
the poetry
in every word
I spoke in the dark.

There's nothing in your words,
There's nothing in your rhymes,
Nothing I haven't heard before,
I don't care, I don't care,
I'm numb.

There's nothing you could say
I don't hear every day,
Those stupid talk shows and interviews,
I don't care, I don't care,
I'm numb.

I come home once a week,
And this is all I hear,
It floods me as it always has,
I don't care, I don't care,
I'm numb.

Prejudice and guilt,
Judgement in my ear,
It's my first thought and my last,
I don't care, I don't care,
I'm numb.

There's nothing in your words,
There's nothing in my voice,
There's noise and boys and prayers,
I care, I care,
I'm dumb.