I am nervous to know you,
though you’ve been mine,
longer than any love had the pleasure,
I didn’t intend
to build a house on your head,
filled with my hardest days,
where the thought of you,
and our imaginary conversations,
seen by you,
for the very first time.
This is where I live.
This is where I lie,
that I know the one who has been mine.
I recite your coffee order,
as I paint myself into the women you like,
based only on throwaway thoughts,
that you thought I didn’t hear,
and a faded memory of your ex,
that I cannot recall without wine and rage.
This is where I hope you’ll be the way I imagined,
this is where I hope you’ll be the man you’ve never met,
this is where I’ll get all I’ve ever wanted,
until you knock on the door,
wearing the skin,
of the one who has been mine,
but you are a stranger.
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