What are we?
is there even a we, or is it possibly just a you and a me,
a concoction of delusion, desire, mismatched expectations with no actual communication.
What are we?
what is this?
Because my soul can't keep skinny dipping in the misread signals of others,
it can't!
My heart can't keep bungee jumping off of platforms made from shaky commitment,
committing to shaky commitment,
it's exhausting,
it's exhausting to keep trying to cultivate seeds in farm lands offered to you as fertile,
that bear testimony of harvest, of bounty,
to watch them yield for everyone else except you!
I can't keep stripping for eyes that refuse to see me,
why bare my soul when the only parts of me you desire to see naked are flesh,
my breasts, hips, butt and lips that don't speak,
as though if they could you'd even bother to listen,
I can't!
Can't keep holding open houses for the prime real estate that is my body, existence, being,
to have prospects take tours, show interest, ask questions, eat cookie, make offers,
only for them to turn around and declare I am not what they're looking for.
it's dangerous how proficient I've gotten at deploying parachutes during trust falls, at spotting plot holes in confessions and pot holes in promises, surprised only if they remain unbroken
I can't!
can't keep putting my love up for adoption,
can't keep fostering it in seemingly loving homes,
only for it to keep being returned to me,
each time a little more traumatized,
each time a little more broken,
So..
before we waste my time,
before we paint memories in vibrant sounds and over saturated colors, that I'll only recall In greys as fantasy,
before we make me believe that I jumped of the edge alone, unprompted, with delusion as my safety instructor and your words in my ears and hand in mine, make belief
before we gaslight me into believing that your actions didn't drive me to conclusions of claim, of more,
knowing full well that 93% of all communication is nonverbal..
before we subject me to all that,
and I'm forced to look with eyes puffy and incapable of seeing myself attached to worth,
Forced to look with those eyes for all the parts of me that make me defective and unworthy of love with weight, with claim,
Again!
what are we?
what is this?
Because it feels kinda shaky.
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