i stare at these pages
as if the words
are going to be enough
to bring you back,
as if the blood spilled
will be all you need
to see that i'm right here.
yet once again,
all i'm left with
is ink stained hands
and a fracture in my chest.
- i hate how you can walk away just as easily as i'd give you everything.
I wanted to see the world
All I had to do was look in your eyes
It was 11:45 P.M. exactly
There was no more time
For any outrageous foolery.
You had to bring her home
By 12:00 no later and already
You had fifteen minutes to spare.
You stopped the car and sat
For a minute to listen
To her steady breathing.
She waits for you to say something
But you only look ahead
And listen to her breathing.
"Are you alright?" She asks you
And you reply with a smile
But to answer––it takes a while.
Maybe you don't want to admit it
But you're not alright.
Not alright with anything at all.
Not alright with the fact she's
Still with you right here
Right at this spot at this time.
Or maybe not with the fact
That her parents actually like you
And that her brother trusts you.
Does it scare you? Of course.
Do you want to believe it's real?
Of course. No gold ever mounted up.
But something still terrifies you,
Chills you to the cores of your bones
And makes your innards quiver.
Especially your heart.
But that's besides the point.
You had an imaginary woman
Stuck inside your head for years.
You're ashamed to say
You wouldn't let her out
Even though it's been so long.
She's banging at your forehead
Right now as you listen
To the other woman's breathing.
She wants out.
But you won't let her out.
She will stay with you.
No––she won't. Want to know why?
Because there's a better woman
Sitting right next to you.
She's beautiful, you know that's a fact.
She's sassy, you know that's a fact.
And you definitely know she's sweet.
So why is this other woman
The one stuck in your head
Still banging away? Trying to escape?
You know it's because you're scared.
The woman next to you? She's real.
You can touch her––she's real.
You're scared of real, aren't you?
You're scared that since she's real
She'll drag along heartbreak.
You're scared because you depend
On the woman inside your head
Far too much to be healthy.
She's fake. She won't ever hug you
Or kiss you or cuddle you or love you
She won't cry or laugh with you.
Why doesn't the imaginary scare you?
Is it because she can't ever leave you?
Is it because she's perfect?
You're not perfect,
So she's definitely not perfect.
So again, you ask yourself,
Why doesn't the imaginary scare you?
And why doesn't the real satisfy you?
It's bizarre, yes. You know that.
But seeing the woman next to you
Smile and touch your cheek,
Maybe you should leave
Maybe you should go
Hole yourself up in your room
And spend hours with the
Woman inside your head.
Maybe you should run
Before she can catch you,
"I love you." She suddenly says.
And you blink.
What did she say? I love you? To you?
"Why?" You ask with a cracked voice.
You don't deserve this.
You've been thinking about another woman.
"There are many things,
But I want you to know I do.
I really really love you."
She loves you?
"Yes." She starts laughing because
Apparently you thought out loud.
You break into a smile at the sound.
She grabs your face and pulls you close.
"I love you. I love you. I love you."
And you start crying.
Because you can hear
The genuity in her voice
Clear as a sunny day.
It's now 12:01 A.M.
perhaps there’s a part of me
that’s just scared of becoming my father’s son
when i have worried all my life i would turn into my mother
in the deep hours of the night they ask me
“can i tell you something”
it’s not a lie when i reply
“you can tell me anything”
as they spend the next minutes trying to figure out how to tell me
that i have always appeared as someone who is
afraid to be wrong
but when you’ve grown up
with wrong as the kind of person you’re supposed to live up to
and the kind of thing you are screamed at for being on
a daily basis
and love the kind of thing you only find in fairy tales
you grow horrified of being wrong
terrified of dreaming
and screaming in your sleep
that i will not be
my father’s son
i am having such a rough week like bad no motivation nobody likes me week. but i wrote a poem so that counts for something