You are the epitome of frustration. With every look over your glasses and every coy smile, my lower stomach churns and the blood rushes to my face. I am like a child waiting for Santa. Breaking the rules, and waiting for you. Listening for an extra sound or watching the distance to try and prove something to myself that just doesn't exist. And I had to break it to myself that you weren't real, or at least your affection. I have become much too accustomed to running mascara and blurry eyes. So maybe I should just stop talking to you. But then you speak to me and I dive headfirst into the pain all over again. You are like the child who unknowingly killed his dog with chocolate. You didn't know giving me poison would land me on my side, trying to breathe through the pain and aftermath of your witty comebacks. And yes, I just metaphorically called myself a dog. But the pain of my lacking self worth does not compare to the pain of the realization that I'm not the one you'll be taking to the movies to see the one I've been talking about seeing for weeks. So maybe I should force myself to minimize the amount that you meant to me. But then I see that you liked my status on Facebook and I see the Instagram post, and my heart reassumes the position that my head should have. A heart should not be allowed to attend to the matters of thinking logically. See, if I had been thinking with my head and not my emotions, "Nuttin but love for you" would have remained a sitcom quote and not a random clue from National Treasure. I don't know if our paths will cross again after we get that handshake we've been working four years to get. But if they do, I will wear a swimsuit and a helmet, that way when I dive intothat pool again, at least I'll be ready.
YOU ARE READING
Chutes and Ladders: Vol. 1
PoesíaThis is a collection of my poetry over the past year. It's a very intimate thing for me to share; every word has a back story. I hope you enjoy
