Sunday, November 16, 2008

Untitled #17

He’s the sweetest when we’re alone
Pretending like he understands
While sharing the burden of familiar melancholy

He has no desire to meet any of my family
The minimal sections he does know,
Only further proof
That we all just drift on by
Past the dainty dresses
In cracked department store windows

He starts to strum chords more frequently
As I occasionally drop subtle hints
About who he should be

I then close my eyes every time
I’m not smashed enough
To connect simplistic dots
With faded pencil lines

I swim around in the compliments
And hope for any kind of rebellion
An exchanged outburst
That both of us find
Some deeply-rooted sense of self
Or salvation from

But it becomes the same looks
And conversations
About those we think we know
Better than each other

I ignore the darkened ink on the door
Of the second bathroom stall
It wouldn’t make sense for me
To be that person

Not when all the telltale signs
Reiterate one pure message
I’ve got a good thing going,
Despite my heart’s complaints

- C.W.

1 comment:

My Idea of Fun said...

holy shit. i wish you knew how much that really just blew me away. and how serendipitous it is that i read that just now. literally JUST now. crazy. everything about this poem is perfect and impressive; the words, the content, the style, the rhyme scheme - they're all just so perfect! and the ending stanza, too. i can't believe the profundity of the last two lines. i promise you i really can't. i could not relate to a poem better. which is strange. i wonder if you realize that as this author of this poem - that your antagonist could feel the exact same way. how would that make you feel i wonder. anyway, incredible piece. truly great work.