A smile, is what I give you.
My tears you never see.
A kiss is what you feel too;
My lips at night they weep.
I long to connect.
For our souls to resonate;
For our hearts to sing.
And our love to bloom.
I long to detect
Your moods and caprices.
So that miles away
I soothe you at bay.
In truth, I cannot.
I wasn’t born this way.
The way you want me.
You want me to not be.
Not be the true me.
The true me is angry.
Angry at the banality of reality.
Reality smashes at a certain age.
The age of maturity or recognition.
Recognition at 15 , 26 or 40.
That life choices have consequences.
That life’s consequences could be a meal, or death;
The death of freedom, the death of choice.
Choices harder to make as time swims by;
Time the relentless ref.
I cannot give you that which you seek.
Your fight with me is lost in advance.
Take me for me , or let me be.
Fight me and you will eventually flee.
I am one of them:
The tale tellers;
We relish in the beauty of others’ dreams fulfilled.
Our dream: to narrate their dreams.
Our purpose: to document their purpose.
We are the observers.
Our lives are meant as a passage.
A mirror to existence.
My sacrifice is to edify.
To express beauty and narrate excellence.
I cannot be tamed;
I cannot be owned.
You either share me with the world or let me be.
My loneliness has never left me.
She shares my bed, my keyboard.
She shares my fears and deep thoughts.
We are dark roommates,
bound by the past;
awake in our present.
She sees what you will never see.
She knows what you will never know.
Do not be jealous of her.
Your pain will only breathe more life to her.
She fuels me.
You are my respite.
My love, you are my respite.
Until, she leaves me, you are my respite.
Would you be the last to leave?