Because I don't want a face to give me the answers
No credibility to tear away like the edges of a styrofoam cup
And wikihow provided me with seven simple steps
To decipher the whispers
What does your gut tell you?
I don't know.
I was told the only talking organs were the head and the heart
I don't speak gut
Just too much guts
Selling my secrets and life story since its start
Whenever I debate my feelings I sense my gut grow fists
Punches my ribs and chest
So I guess it's telling me that
I'm in pain
being destroyed by my inner workings
I've swallowed too many words
each a match that my burning blood has set ablaze.
I need to quiet my heart,
put my mind to sleep
because the echoes of memories are piercing my skull.
Is this the point when I laugh?
When talking about love
I thought the whole point was defying reason.
Letting yourself carve off your ventricles is never the rational thing to do.
The moment I opened the blinds from my eyes
Let you glimpse into my soul
I made myself vulnerable,
let the sniper of rejection find the perfect target.
The authorities are coming for me
I've been holding my emotions hostage for far too long
Once I become objective,
once I shoot them all down
They'll have no reason to keep me alive.
The negotiations will end
So will conversations
and the listening to cheap love songs
Consider how you think and feel when you are around him.
I don't think.
I try not to feel.
I've stapled on a poker face.
Laughing at the jokes hoping that I'm not one of them.
Fighting not to debate why he's stopped touching me--
when we're with our friends,
in a dog-pile,
how he avoids my flesh now.
Is he trying not to lead me on,
or trying to lead himself off?
I exile the questions disguised as thoughts,
Senses and sentiments.
I wander into subtext
trying with a reflex
to reflect some of my inner-workings,
jerking him back to the time we say is forbidden,
hoping I can tell him I'm hurting by smirking.
I'm tired of watching love like it's an exhibit at an aquarium.
I've bought scuba gear.
I've written love poems
and had kisses
and been told the sacred words
but yet I've never gotten my feet wet.
Observing and obsessing are integrated.
It's my turn to touch,
To touch and feel.
I've had all the symptoms,infect me with the disease
I don't know if I'm projecting it all
Hoping if I throw enough punches I can transcend the glass.
You tell me not to bother
Once I break through it will just flood
I'll probably drown.
But I think I know how to swim.
How do they feel?
That's a different problem entirely.
Tell the person how you feel.
First I have to figure that out.
Imagine how you would feel if you lost them.
I think I already did.
But I trying to find them
Amongst moments and mementos
Places and promises
And see if I'm there too.