She

Of course it wasn’t about me,
Was it ever going to be?

Never the chosen one

but always the chosen, in the end I mean

 

I don’t feel jealousy anymore

I know she means something different to you

I will never understand.
You take my hand but I know somehow

hers is preferred

 

She can take you further than me

I don’t have that much to offer

She’s there and she can do it,

She has the power

 

She welcomes you in more than I do

It’s a safer feeling, such certainty

While I give you tales of some far away fantasy

that is never real for you

 
How selfish of me,

To expose this to you

knowing that you are where you are,

unchanging.

 
I will never get her nor her I

We will laugh and smile to one another but never talk, really.

She knows me but doesn’t ask to be kept up to date.

 
I’ll ask about her though,

Because I just want to relate to you

She’s your interest,

your something sweet,

in a setting I’m far gone from

 

 

Still you are my home,

My welcome back

While she’s something present and always exciting,

She can bring you away
Lift you from the reality that I left you in

Filling the gap that I was inevitably to bring.

Tag

I’m caught see, it’s not me.

This isn’t,

why do I have this feeling of need and necessity when your presence is with me?

Let it be. No I can’t

 

Frantic, I must escape from you

‘Get out before you get hurt’
I wish I could forget and move forward but I’m being dragged.

You’re the centre that pulls, without consent

my heart my head and my soul

This dept I feel for you cannot be real, how is that?
This frustration is untold, I hide it well
.

See I’ve never yet fell,

and I plan to remain in the cell I’ve become accustomed to.

 

You’re all that I want, everyone and everything else is a different scale
This is a sorry old tale, ancient and dated this

It’s not supposed to happen to me,

I’m the next generation where we remove the uncomfortable things.

Why think of the impossible, does it make it any more possible?
Why. Why do you hang over me,

the deep swirling colour of your eyes or the slick skill of your hair or the broadness of back and side and form.
Why do I notice this?

It’s like a reflection of soul.

 

I see me, I see you.

You’re perfect, you’re it

I’m not.

The Stand

The moon rises earlier each night
That’s a sight I can see and be certain of its reality.
Something unlike this.

The time ticks past and is somehow semi-permanent
As I sit waiting.
With the sense of regret and neglect hanging like the low moon of the early evening.

An evening was all that was planned, of duration time, all dated and set.
Something to represent the desire, of relaxation and little regret.

A fixation I wanted fixed.
A friendship formed, gradual and continuous
Something new started, sudden and ambitious.

I sit and wait some more and hope for the knock.
Look to the the door, the clock, the floor.

Out the window the moon rises, earlier each night.
At the sight, I know it’s time.

I turned out the lights.