True.

the relationship, Storytelling..

Wired

buzzed - and never buzzed

---

From details to feelings 


Loving somebody you Know 
in one way
Somehow, you are  
not allowed to know 
How can I, selfishly, love something
that is so completely one-sided 
Cared for in a cave where I’m wrapped up 
and not isolated 

Storytelling, self-abandoning 
and not feeling
In these moments 
I want to write of warm throws 
but there has to not be a rhyme
or reason to this
I’m a ridiculous smart ass
An irritant
I respect the words that come out
Of someone I learn, more and more, 
with time


I tell her that somebody died 
and I feel the shift
I loved that tiny shift
I find them interesting 
and everything they’re supposed to be 
Like this is her moment 
She knows this stuff 
This is all the good shit.

But, for her, whatever I want to 
talk about 
My random streams of consciousness 
That’s what she’s interested in
Why it matters
It’s the good shit.
Not in a way that strokes my ego
but, because, somewhere deep in 
there 
Hides some, cracking-open-
for-a-second, core


You get irritated 
I never feel, it’s with me
I’m used to anger
External, internal 
I think I turned up unexpectedly once
and you handled it in a way I loved
Was that what happened?
Did you forget? I made a mistake 
Or, I forgot  

Did you get the date wrong?
I was on your team and I fu   ing
loved it
I can’t believe you are still stood there 
I wonder if I’ve let you down 
I don’t want to be this way
but I am me
I am who I am 


Is any of this real?
Just love ya.
Do. 
You’re one of the best people in
my life 
in such a weird, trans formative
Real and honest 
way 


How can I ‘know’ a person 
and Know no facts
Nothing practical
So few basic statements
that I revel in the crumbs of them
Like taste testers, only licking 
sweets 

Here’s me story-telling 
Trying to make this a legend - epic 
Sweet!
I sit and I feel at peace 
when I think of you 
and all rustled up inside, 
Practise my speech 

I want you to like me.
There are ghosts 
and I don’t come from the bottom 
of the haunts 
I hide, 
faux, and deeply, distraught 
Lowest points possible, from my gut-
Only, wish there was more 
-
Some sort of wail 
That doesn’t want to sound pretty
I want to sound pretty
Witty. 
Be presented 
A retort.
Even if it’s messy
There’s a show
It’s owned.
This is bought, priceless 
and sold 



Therapy draws in the years
Elevates
as I smother them - 
and choke 

Earth shakes
of wanting to live 
Do I want to see some part
of your real life 
What’s your favourite song?
If the lyrics were deep
that’d tell me way too much
Questions on the tip of my tongue 

(Can’t need. Don’t want)
I don’t want to ever talk about you 
Or anything, hungrily 
As if I have desire 
Forbidden spikes, damaging my 
skin
Could never make me rude 
I worry they transmit evil energy,
from within 
It’s the connection 
Of wanting the oxygen 
That is a sin

I should be ugly here 
To know that I can present without 
wanting to look luminous
Are you being what you think I need?

I want you to like me 
but wish I didn’t care 
That, you liked me anyway 
Not demanded in some web of 
unconditional, positive regard 
Talk is cheap. I need my own relief
-
I exhaust you 
We want to sleep 

What if you liked me,
naturally, 
In an unconditioned, way

Why does that matter to me?

Light up and telling me when
I’m talking s  t
Do you stay?


I fight the force 
of avoidance in my mouth 
Lets roll over it 
I want to shuffle through sessions
Jazz hands over here 
Feet moving, to some weird knee kick 

---

Photo by Marek Piwnicki on Unsplash

I bore myself.

---

Oh, there’s 
rhythm,
perfectly accidental 
Wound 
Ground, down
I want to be on the floor 
Real. Never performed. 

Run through. 
Screened, blue 
and not caring 
Recycled 
from millions, before 

Photo by Codioful (Formerly Gradienta) on Unsplash

---

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No room for me, here..