"I run too fast
or too slow it seems."
The truth is
that my mouth opens perpetually
while the rest of me is always shut off
I can be kind and happy with my mouth
I can make someone feel good
but the instant people want hands on me
the skin is on fire and I don't (can't) like it
so don't touch me, I don't want to burn
I was looking through boxes of books
and feeling such pain
yearbooks are a special source of agony
friends I had, friends I lost, friends who ran screaming
and those of us who just faded...
Hopefully the words I wrote will last to other people
I don't know if everyone has this super-sad-mentality
this far away on this side of the line
I'm sure plenty of people do
I absolutely do not believe that I am the only person
capable of ridiculous melancholy
but regardless of introducing melancholy to the whole world
or if it is just me
looking through my books hurts me
giving away my books hurts
you kept me sane throughout some of the rougher years
and now that rough years are indeed ahead and behind
apparently I don't need you anymore
replaced by virtual words in space.
thankfully stories remain the same
even if they are different
and I have the comics still
with the angels and robots and devils
and people who fell in love and died
My cat likes to sit closest to skin. She finds the part
where my shirt doesn't quite meet my pants and she puts her back
on it and faces the outside world. She'll lay here for hours.
She knows I love how she exists in close proximity to me.
Sometimes when I sleep, she comes and sleeps on my pillow
in my hair, like she's not a fellow bed crowder, but an extension of me
that on occasion digs her claws into my head.
And lick my hair incessantly
and occasionally chomps at my face.
We have a strange love.
I find myself limp, like my bones are gone
when I am with him.
I've pressed my body against his for years
and he his against mine
and I haven't seen him in forever
and we just exchange pleasantries
and it's pleasant, which is the highest of praises
not something I have to work at but someone to simply whisper
the generalities of how life is.
I wonder at how we are so very very different
in our paths, but how we can meander together anyways.
I feel less tight around him
like the millions of ways I am lesser and terrible
like the thousand ways I can't cope and won't let myself be free
I worry sometimes that I tell him the truth too much
that he can't handle it or he won't love me
But he's never been afraid of the realities
and him loving me
it doesn't matter though
I'm always a thousand miles away
have always been.