In the middle of the night,
after the stars had seen fit to pay a visit,
my mind was finally made up.
Dark thoughts, rainbows and confused kisses,
everything was okay,
finally I was still for a second,
in touch with my soul,
not sure what to say to her,
in awe of how I could be a constant mystery to myself,
tempted to open my window and wail the truth,
eventually deciding against it.
Long ago, I saw myself as a man’s wife,
yet that life now belongs to a stranger,
and all that I am is lipstick prints in reds and pinks,
layered all across the mirror, in a beautiful, confusing picture.
Everything makes sense, I suppose.
So many things I wanted, were just to prove that I could have them,
buried underneath my hurry to have him was my hunger for her,
internal whispers about how weird it felt to kiss, touch and be loved.
All that I am is unconfirmed, unassuming,
never to be truly seen.