Titled, "Please, don't read this."
Let me have it now.
You don’t even have to give it to me.
I will reach on my own.
I will grasp on my own.
I want to feel less.
Yes, I am asking for the numbness.
You can’t take it.
Let me have my voice.
I don’t want to sing.
And it’s one in the morning.
I wish I could sleep,
but my mind is so restless.
It wants to justify all the feelings,
because you did what you always do.
You swooped in
and judged and examined
and diagnosed.
And then you just left.
I will not ask for something
I know that you and you and you cannot give to me.
And what I know is that this is not for you to see.
This is for me to burst open and smear my feelings across the page.
It’s always about you.
But really, it’s always about you.
And yes, perhaps its passive.
Yes, yes its passive.
But also it’s doing something.
And I think that is the right direction to stride in.
So I’m glad you’re your own best friend.
I’m jealous of that.
I need you far too much.