meeting the gaze of the mirror,
my summer skin stings and sings,
with every wandering of the whip hand,
sweet forehead kisses stay on my mind,
long after you leave,
never really here,
just a shadow that stood somewhere in the room,
someone that I needed to see,
to remind myself that I will always be a captive of Cupid.
Don’t worry if you don’t understand me,
all the intricacies,
all the invasive interests of my imagination.
I didn’t need to be understood.
I didn’t need to be seen.
I just needed to see you,
so I knew I still could,
so I didn’t feel so stupid for still seeing something in you.
Someone else told me that intimacy was hard,
but I heard it in your voice,
for a second,
it had been stolen,
and from you,
it made all the sense in the world,
almost felt a little soothing,
but then I felt a little stupid again,
because I knew I understood, to an extent,
but I knew I’d never apply all the things I had begrudgingly learned.
Instead, I am making plans while streaming Montero,
and that new song I wrote for you,
knowing that nothing is possible but putting myself in that place where I play dumb,
so it doesn’t hurt so much when I return to real life.
Is it okay if I say that you hurt my feelings?
Or do people find it demanding and unpleasant when I do that?
I honestly don’t know,
but I’ll balance it out by saying that pain isn’t the only thing I feel, when it comes to you,
and maybe I can hide the helpless, sleepless nights behind the ones where I slept peacefully,
sinking into sweet dreams and fantasies I now struggle to conjure.
I don’t mean to get real romantic (ha),
but I did it anyway,
because seduction is like sedation for me,
and I need a muse to make it through,
otherwise I wake up, midway through life tearing me apart.