“Too Late”
In my heart, and the still ashes of my bereaved memories
I realize now may be the wrong time to get close to you.
Because though you may think I’ve been with creeps, egomaniacal landmines of men, I’ve known Love. Once
(And I miss him every day)
Miss those nights of pain, blood, and madness
Because he always knew how to turn a scream into a sigh,
a wish into the attained.
He was mocked for his passion, hated upon for it they thought
it couldn’t be genuine.
More real than their own egos built up self-perceptions.
He first saw me as an appearing clarity round face, loud mouth in the middle of a crowded line at Duane Reade and I made him mine
before knowing he was what I wanted.
No that love amid one star resorts in European beach towns, and city intersections it
had no fucking chance at survival.
Just goes to say that while we may want
with all our bits of ambition,
our hearts can retain the stains of even our most surface interludes.
Calming me with a matched wail,
he valued my dreams as though they were his own.
Many mistakes later, seemingly endless moments of solitude
with him still inside of me.
Somehow he no longer heard my voice
my scars began to soften, though never fade.
In a flash, my womanhood renewed,
you appeared
And so I’m wondering what you’re thinking.
Why I feel, our roles, as pupil and instructor seem to reverse, and revert so often.
I’m wondering who’s the stronger one.
But seriously, I’m curious about those long fingers, those soft,
Mirthful eyes,
Smiling lines,
that chest slapping rhythm hunger of your soul
And what they have to offer.
Because although the clock seems to be no longer ticking away the chances-
my time is to be cherished,
not necessarily bottled by the handsome ignorant.
In my heart, and the still ashes of my bereaved memories
I realize now may be the wrong time to get close to you.
Because though you may think I’ve been with creeps, egomaniacal landmines of men, I’ve known Love. Once
(And I miss him every day)
Miss those nights of pain, blood, and madness
Because he always knew how to turn a scream into a sigh,
a wish into the attained.
He was mocked for his passion, hated upon for it they thought
it couldn’t be genuine.
More real than their own egos built up self-perceptions.
He first saw me as an appearing clarity round face, loud mouth in the middle of a crowded line at Duane Reade and I made him mine
before knowing he was what I wanted.
No that love amid one star resorts in European beach towns, and city intersections it
had no fucking chance at survival.
Just goes to say that while we may want
with all our bits of ambition,
our hearts can retain the stains of even our most surface interludes.
Calming me with a matched wail,
he valued my dreams as though they were his own.
Many mistakes later, seemingly endless moments of solitude
with him still inside of me.
Somehow he no longer heard my voice
my scars began to soften, though never fade.
In a flash, my womanhood renewed,
you appeared
And so I’m wondering what you’re thinking.
Why I feel, our roles, as pupil and instructor seem to reverse, and revert so often.
I’m wondering who’s the stronger one.
But seriously, I’m curious about those long fingers, those soft,
Mirthful eyes,
Smiling lines,
that chest slapping rhythm hunger of your soul
And what they have to offer.
Because although the clock seems to be no longer ticking away the chances-
my time is to be cherished,
not necessarily bottled by the handsome ignorant.
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