sometimes i just sit.
i sit and speculate
on what you’re thinking
i question everything about you
until i’m forced
to question myself
and when you ask
“what’s wrong?”
i have a million things to say
“it’s her
it’s them
it’s that”
but my mouth fails to translate
what my mind echoes
every day
and i think of your face
and i think of your words
that drive into my skin
and i think of all the effort
that you put into
not trying
and i think of all the times
i cried for you and told you
that i was ok
and when you ask that question
sometimes i forget
that you are the answer
