I.
You asked, what did that silence contain?
That small pause, that little step back, that awkwardness
Yeah, I love him but.
And a period.
I bet you paused too, right?
My love is not like that sweet fluttering dandelions, dancing, swimming, kissing the sky.
Not like poems with rhythms and lovely lines, tucked underneath the pillows, kept and romantic.
Not even a song, melodious, harmonic, dramatic.
It's eccentric.
Sometimes it says 'Hi', most of the time, good bye.
Sometimes it grows, like a parasite burying its root deep down on my veins, crushing my heart, bruising my soul.
Most of the time, it dies.
In vain.
Sometimes I like him— no, I actually like him, love him, he's mine.
All the future I envisioned, there he is standing around, he's mine.
If he dies— I killed him.
‘Cause he's mine.
Mine.
You see? I'm crazy about him.
But.
II.
But in the mirror there's a witch, dark and hauntingly beautiful.
She's not me but I adore her.
And for her I'll sing a song, I'll write poems all night long
If I died — she killed me.
‘Cause I'm hers.
III.
Is it possible to love a girl while loving a man?
I don't want her but she causes me to pause... or curse...
IV.
Blank empty space is my head if you'll ask what I think if I thought about her
Red and red-red roses are the colors I see with black thorns, high above, not for picking, I know.
My mind will be melting like candy in a wrapper, under the sun of sin, like purging, I wonder.
Like bitter-sweet capuli dyed green, not making sense, I know.
V.
And I love her.