other people
Each failed intimacy makes my body feel more alien to itself.
It must be nice to say the words, "boyfriend", "husband".
I look at pictures of you in 2009. You're at a party in that white shirt,
you don't care and everyone wants you. You were my movie star dream.
There's a picture of you slumped on a chair. You look like an addict,
blissed out, surrendered. I want to be a drug to you.
I listen to songs and feel self-conscious about how they'd sound to your ears.
I listen to secondhand stories of your ex. She gave you a set of red guitar picks.
I can't imagine you playing a single note in front of me. I can't
even ask the questions. Did you teach yourself? How do you know
if it's any good? When you picture the bright lights and open faces,
is anything louder than the pulse of your heart in your ears?
Is anything sweeter than an unrealised dream? The one
where you love me. Where we speak of wants without intellectualisation.
It could be that I never saw you, I only saw the finish line.
You opened the door little by little, then slammed it shut.
I could've never realised how protected you were from danger.
You left me reeling from how off the mark I could be,
stupidly delighted by the way you kissed me on the forehead,
as if your lips carried a promise of feeling your words never said.
It must be nice to say the words, "boyfriend", "husband".
I look at pictures of you in 2009. You're at a party in that white shirt,
you don't care and everyone wants you. You were my movie star dream.
There's a picture of you slumped on a chair. You look like an addict,
blissed out, surrendered. I want to be a drug to you.
I listen to songs and feel self-conscious about how they'd sound to your ears.
I listen to secondhand stories of your ex. She gave you a set of red guitar picks.
I can't imagine you playing a single note in front of me. I can't
even ask the questions. Did you teach yourself? How do you know
if it's any good? When you picture the bright lights and open faces,
is anything louder than the pulse of your heart in your ears?
Is anything sweeter than an unrealised dream? The one
where you love me. Where we speak of wants without intellectualisation.
It could be that I never saw you, I only saw the finish line.
You opened the door little by little, then slammed it shut.
I could've never realised how protected you were from danger.
You left me reeling from how off the mark I could be,
stupidly delighted by the way you kissed me on the forehead,
as if your lips carried a promise of feeling your words never said.