Yes.
The way is clear.
If I just say,
yes,
maybe I can appear so brave,
that my doubts will fear me,
and I will be free of them,
and free to be whatever I’d like to be.
I watch a man at the bus stop,
with a broken heart,
restart the same Smiths song,
every time it threatens to leave him,
because somebody left him,
fickle love,
that never tells the truth about its true intentions.
My cards,
and my angels,
surround me at night,
like a frustrated frame,
always arguing the same point,
that I will never know,
if I live my life,
always saying “No.”
A mother and son,
pass by,
hand in hand,
hearts promising to never forget these days,
when they are everything to each other,
never foreseeing teenage rage,
parental disappointment,
or just the way that life fucks with good people.
I say yes,
in my head,
though I know all the ways it could backfire,
because,
I want you.
Don’t I?
I do.
I know I do.
I can’t stop talking about you.
In my words,
in my sleep,
spelling your name in my synapses.
I’ve wanted you long enough,
to know that it isn’t just my impulsive urges,
leading me off a cliff,
and that this must be the kind of thing,
that might make me sit at a bus stop,
asking Morrissey why,
when you aren’t mine anymore.
I don’t know if it’s…
a word I’m choosing to withhold,
for obvious reasons,
but I know that there’s something.
Something about you,
something that you do,
that I can’t let go of,
something about life without you,
that I don’t want.
So,
I say yes,
any time,
any place,
any way that you want me,
as long as you do.
I am frightened,
but I think I’m convincing,
because my doubts are hiding behind their mother’s shoes.
