I’ve been laying up at night
taking adequacy by the handful
wondering how long it will be
before you tell me that it’s working.
Even if the dejection
stops pounding in my chest
then I’ll have to dwell
in the bitter, still tender loneliness
of the places, you never touched.
It looks as though
18 years just hasn’t been enough
to overcome my addiction
to everything you won’t give me.
I know its awful
but I love to see her cry
not because I know she’s in pain
or that someone has their hand around her heart
but because it reminds how inspiring melancholy can really be
and how amazing it is when someone is moved
it puts the dejection in apathy
that I never knew was there
and shows me again how beautiful eyes can be
through glass windows
opening and closing as all of the hate and confusion
that shes feeling rolls down her cheeks
she emerges from her own natural disasters
more confident and beautiful every time
as if nothing had ever hurt her
and nothing could again.
One of these days
I’m going to stop holding hands
with the pain
you made me fall in love with
it will be hard at first
and many times I will not succeed
but I first have to let go of you
for you to then let go of me
but without that hand of longing
and brief, bittersweet release
wrapped tightly around my wrist
I will emerge from the line
of people still yielding
to their vices
and I will look over my shoulder
back at them all
back at you
and I will smile
and I will shout
“Everything is going to be okay!”
just like you told me
when I was still so young
but it won’t be to you
it will be the girl
still holding your other hand
and she won’t believe me at first
unlike how I believed you
but when I don’t return
she will understand that
and only without you
will everything be okay.
if you were this terrible to her
or if it was
always just me.
For a little while, I thought I was doing really well
until I remembered the first time we met
and the best day of my life ran through my mind
tearing down every lie that I’ve convinced myself
it would happen again.
I used to think that blue eyes were beautiful
as everyone does
but I’ve been noticing lately an apathy behind them
whether it’s hidden well or it isn’t.
I used to think, too, it was only a single pair of blue eyes
that bore resemblance to that revile that I loved so much
but I’m getting better at looking past vibrant irises
and into a narcissistic stoicism.
Don’t get me wrong,
I still think that they’re beautiful,
a vivid and dispassionate warning that there is pain ahead,
and now that I’ve come to understand what lies behind them
I love them even more.
Every day I get closer to you
and every day it gets easier
to pull farther away from him.