You always think you know me,
but you don't.
You are sitting there,
reading, obsessing,
probing with dirty hands
at my smoke.
You pick apart my layers of skin;
perhaps to find puzzle pieces of lies
you think are still there.
It is not enough that I have
already told you the truth,
but that you have not believed me anyway.
This, before October, was your motto,
and I have grown weary of your suspicions,
way back in August, when the sun finally
burned away the Glamour you had floating around you
and I saw us for what we really were.
And everything that happens you seem to think
only effects you in the worst way.
Like, what did you do to deserve this?
My love, when will you learn...
It's what you didn't do.

I can sit here all night and wish,
no, yearn for last year, and the year before
that. I still believed you to be
the Moon and Stars then,
but you didn't want to be,
and I gave in.
And maybe if I said, go away boy, to be happy and free
you'd finally do it.
Maybe you'd make sure I hurt first.

You will always hold me as if I was made
of thorns and roses,
instead of green grass and crickets.
My kiss will always taste of bitter sugar
and my eyes will always look past you,
even when I focus them on yours,
the eyes I got used to looking past me.

We used to be he and her
and she was our she.
Now it is then and now,
and she is poor baby,
whose love is not enough for this?

Like I am so conflicted,baby.
Like I am so tired.
Like I am finally ready to
let you drop me off that cliff.
Maybe you could smile again.

Maybe so could I.

It never hurts to miss you, baby.
It just hurts to have to cry

07/19/2010

Author's Note: I wrote this in 2003. I just found it.

Posted on 07/19/2010
Copyright © 2024 Maria Kintner