I may have my shit together
and know the way my hair falls
on my shoulder is something
only you will notice.
It is time that alters every move
and the words you stop yourself from saying.
Riddles are for magicians
I am a poet
and speak in verse
forget my lack of involvement
I much prefer small Brooklyn lofts
to grandiose lifestyles.
I may select the best granite sink
but truly it means
as much to me as black diamonds.
I do not care how shower doors open
I know I should
I am hated for it.
I want to know if my page is just right
and the word I selected to describe
your love is just right
but why does it still feel wrong?
I assume I make an ass out of myself
and fall into cliches and ditches
banged into a car at Tim Horton’s
thinking of poems in my head
I forgot the words to.
Along the way I found you
on Crescent street
I was wearing my lavender pants and perfume
but still you never looked.
I never forget a moment
I could analyze it and crush it too.
Make it come to life
and kiss your magnificent mouth
on the street.
I bet you would notice me then.
Now it feels like you can see right
but my mirror is cracked
and behind that
is a wall
with no studs.
It can be violent
in my mind
but when I examine a raindrop
it has already fallen
and it always feels
like it is too late for us
or too soon.
Photo by Ben Zank @benzank on Instagram