I am the sunlight traveling
in
the expansive void
of uncertainty
in
the distance between
being seen and
being invisible
in
listening, rapt
but weary of
straining to hear
each snowflake
kissing the ground
I wish to bring my Spring
to fill your meadow
in
light and sound
I crave the reassurance
in
dewdrops glistening
upon your nourished leaflets
casting tiny rainbows
in
sparkling reflections
full of hope and
encouragement
facing the dragons at wits’ end
I took mistakenly for myself
the strength and
weakness
I so relied upon for identity
I am not my thoughts, though
the illusion is convincing.
You are not who I remember
nor who I see
looking
so quiet and lifeless
like dark before the dawn
waiting to realize
the complexity
behind those furtive eyes
reflecting my own brightness
do you create that light
or do you just hide
in
rays of beautiful truth
either way, I delight
in
the realness of you
holding my gaze
shrinking my world
is that a pedestal
I put you on
or just a wall
you built around
the deepest you
challenging
me to climb
and not look down
is that perfect smile
your soul pouring through
or just another
clever disguise
I designed to tease
my unquenchable thirst for proof
I will gladly die chasing you
Are you unavailable on purpose
indifferent, aloof
independent, or
apathetic, or just basic
I’ve certainly made that mistake before, confusing potential
for growth.
Existing in the vacuum
where I put you when
you go away
the crickets of my false expectations
fill the silence of your
cold silhouette
not falling
for me
for my shiniest lures
not falling
for my objectively awesome personhood
The best show I’ve ever performed
meticulously polished tricks
practiced acts of sheer
strength and pure magic
fooling even myself
but somehow not you.
not accustomed to being ignored,
I keep reminding myself
waiting slow
waking again alone
choking in my misery
you owe me nothing
I am already complete
my lonliness is made of fear
I reserve the right to choose
what I want, and
at any time
to change my mind
or stay right here, to
wallow in the sacred
self-examination
of disappointment
My instict says continue,
allow
myself to hurt
myself to feel
The only place I know for sure my feelings aren’t is in you.
My love is never lost, wasted, or given in vain.
I, like the sun, shine love incautious and unconcerned, without expectation, expanding relentlessly into the void, returning to the darkness the light that was never mine to keep.
My intentions are impetuous
blurring the lines between
authentic and ulterior
generously selfish
inevitably,
loving you is a gift
I give myself.
Prunkentfaltung 