And really, there’s no way to say it. I felt itches
on my skin and lumps in my throat when the clock
struck 7 and I could dial your number.
But I chose not to, as I always do. My life’s been a series of
choices followed by relapses of remorse as I’m a gust of wind
in a dusty road of catcallers and minimum-wage employees
with tired eyes and aching cries as chain-wheeled trucks
drive down ashen alley.
I have dragged you along with everyone I’ve ever known
down that alley. Synonymous words as the only one I’ve ever really
known is you.
But you have had your demons and your fair share of crap.
Why am I such a prize to have felt the same daggers and live
in despise, when it is you who has tied her shoelaces herself and painted
them in iridescent glory as you walk down this burned down boulevard?
When it is I who still wears the dusty, grey shoes of my downfall and even fireflies
are empty skies to my eyes.
For how can my empty heart and novice soul, my
untalented mind and spirit (so poor) ever fool you I’ve coats of gold?
But I’ll multitask and mend my heart
from silken scars to sewing stars.
Words cease pouring, I’m not at this part