me&you.

Stop thinking you are special.

You are amazing.

Why do you think you are better than anybody else?

You are no different!

We all think that way.

Tell me everything you think about.

That isn’t new!

It’s not that big of a deal!

Why can’t you just tell me?

You did a terrible job of explaining that.

Stop doing that!

Just talk to me!

You talk too much!

You are special!

You are different and smart!

You think more than anyone I know.

I love you!

You think too much!

Just because I am not doesn’t mean I wasn’t.

You caught me at the worst time.

I’ll hurry.

I don’t do that!

Why do you do that?

Nothing can tear us apart!

You make it so hard!

My heart is willing,

But my mind is weak.

From trying to guess the next thing you might speak.

Will it be ok this time,

Or will you explode?
Should I stand my ground,

Or say you are profound.

Should I bend and conform

Or be who I am.

Is who I was what you wanted?

Or who I will be?

Or who you can make me?

For being so simple, you make my life complex.

This or that. One way or the other.

I never quite know with you.

Returning once again

I am sitting over here, silently angry over something you don’t know you did.

Secretly annoyed that you don’t know you did it,

But unwilling to bring it to light.

This isn’t the first time you have insulted me in such a way.

And yes, I took it personally.

You seem to think that you can smooth anything over with some sugar.

Well, you are wrong.

It doesn’t matter how you frost the cake if it has been made with rocks instead.

You always say you love me,

You say you always will.

Why then, is respect for who I am not imperative?

I feel I am becoming an object.

I have thought this once before, that you do not know the real me.

How can you love that which you do not know?

But you said you did and I believed you.

You proved me wrong, or so I thought, you had me fooled for a long time.

But now I am wondering again.

So many things that make me me,

You cannot seem to comprehend.

I didn’t think it was going to be like this, I thought it was going to be like everything I wanted.

But it’s not. Not yet. Not now. It was, for a while.

But can it ever be that way? Is it even worth it to imagine, or am I wishing for the impossible?

I am returning, to where I was, to the way I thought.

I will never be truly understood.

And that is ok, because that is life. 

me but not myself

me but not myself.
i hate me
but not myself
myself 
a wonderful creature 
of interest and 
love
a blossoming fountain of life
at least, 
that is what my mind tells me.
but Me.
Me.
a reminder of how much I 
detest that which I
have allowed myself
to slip into

sometime I hope
to find myself
amid all this
me
mountains and mountains of 
me 
to be climbed and conquered.

I'm on my way. 

Jacob Lawrence Gallery

The floor beneath my feet
smoother than ice
scratches the soles of my
shoes.
The air smells of paint.
It is clear the walls have not seen
any.
The room is mostly empty.
Tables are stacked on the edges
gallery lights shine down on
creamy blank walls.
There is an extension cord on
the ground and
art work in drafts
pinned to the wall with a
single prick.
Someone sits at a desk.
A guard.
Is it an accident, that the door is
open.
or
is this art?

Waiting for Michelle

Down the hall she smiles as she

unlocks the bathroom door for a girl who 

left her keys inside.

She walks with confidence towards me,

around my legs on the floor.

"No problem" She smiles after my apology.

She unlocks her door and 

goes inside.

I hear her set down her bag.

Expletive. 

She shouts.

I hear her muffled cries.

She sobs

and sniffs

another expletive

She makes a call.

The door across the hall 

opens 

and I walk away. 

---------------------------

What happened while I was waiting for Michelle?

What happened while this girl was smiling? 

Smiling for the world and letting it all fall on her capable, perfect shoulders.

Was there an alternative?