On the Bitterness of Mania


You don’t understand what I mean
When I say you don’t look at me like I am real.

Because you see me, and you see freedom
And excitement
An escape from the morals you both want and don’t want to adhere to.
From the duties you feel you must fulfill.

But in this you miss, if not my expectations, the fact that I need to viewed with substance.
To be more than the manic pixie
That you so desperately want.

Because I will sit here and watch
As you pass me as a stepping stone in your life
And find your wife
Have your kids
And long for something more than what you chose.

And you will love her, and you will care for her
Every feeling true, and intense, and meaningful
While you fuck someone like me
And hold her close
And make her feel like nothing more
Than your most treasured fantasy.

On Hesitancy

In the middle of the night, I hear your voice.
And I’m not sure if these words are in my head, or a dream.
But after an age I roll over, press my lips to yours, and say it back to you.

And these words shouldn’t be too big of a deal, but it takes us another month to acknowledge it again, aloud.

Maybe we didn’t have to.
Maybe it’s the way your arm falls around my waist in the morning when you don’t want to wake up.
Maybe it’s in the way you pull me to you before we drift off to sleep.

It’s not love. Not yet, quite possibly not ever.

But there is something in the way you smile at me
That makes me smile back.

And I’m trying not to hope, to give a mile when you give an inch.
I’m being careful, and I think you are too.
But we can try these new things together.

With your lips at my ear I feel beautiful, strong, and brave.

And I want to keep feeling that way.