poem – Page 9 – The Messy Middle 🖤

Does it?

I peel a piece of skin off of my lip with my teeth.

Summer’s bringing the light, but heavy is the grief.

The brief moment of pain brings a slight relief.

Does it all really come down to self-belief?

–S.

Show Pony.

I go further than I should,

with the gas tank on empty.

My paycheck goes quick,

but I make it so slowly.

I run to conclusions,

and I walk with lonely.

I love reading books,

I cringe at my own story.

I could never be anybody’s show pony.

–S.

See you tonight.

I’m a book you put back on the shelf.

Didn’t catch your interest, not worth a second glance.

You’re leaving the store in a hurry, not even worth a chance.

I’m waiting for the next patron.

Yearning to change from single to taken.

I’ll see you in my imagination.

–S.

Myths.

You don’t know that I exist,

but I can’t resist,

dreaming of you.

You don’t know that I exist,

but in my fantasies,

we do.

You don’t know that I exist,

so I curl my hands into fists,

and I don’t reach for you.

–S.

Alter.

You’ve always had a way of making me feel small.

It doesn’t matter the distance, you can change everything with just one call.

Your words defy space, they crash through every wall.

You hold all the power, you have the ability to ruin it all.

I can never feel tall.

Your voice in my head makes me stall.

No matter what, you’ll always make sure I fall,

or falter.

Why am I always something to be altered?

–S.

Rug Sweeper.

A second of honesty,

and a moment of courage.

I say how I truly feel,

now everything is real.

The adrenaline wears off,

awkward cough.

Courage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,

at least not to me.

–S.

Why?

Okay,

I’m leaving.

I guess it just wasn’t our season.

Wrong person.

Wrong time.

I drown myself in an ocean of reasons.

–S.

Gift Exchange.

Life is a gift.

I know, I know, I know.

I can’t help it,

I’ve been feeling so low.

I feel ungrateful,

and like all of the progress has been so slow.

I’ve been staring out the car window,

willing myself to grow.

What if this is it?

What if there is nothing else for me to show?

–S.

Bag Lady.

I drive by your old house.

I’m looking in every window.

I’m still trying to find myself, didn’t you know?

You’re moved on,

and you’re married.

I don’t love you anymore,

but it’s the feeling of being abandoned,

that I’ve still carried.

You’re hiking trails state-to-state now,

with only one backpack in tow.

I’m now a bag lady, didn’t you know?

I’m still carrying everything that you left behind.

You’re no longer on my mind,

but I still drive by your old house.

I’m looking in every window.

I’m still trying to find myself, didn’t you know?

–S.

Stripped Identity.

You take my virginity on a mattress, with no bedframe.

You tell me who I am as if I have no name.

You hit things around me, filling me with shame.

I don’t know how to win any of your mind games.

When you’re done with me, you leave faster than you came.

–S.