I hate small talk. I hate quick exchanges of currency and catch-ups.
When I stop you in the halls and ask you about your day- I expect depth.
I expect waves of emotion as if the day is drowning you in the ocean.
I want laughter and sighs.
I want jokes and witty comments breathing from your lips.
I want to see hands in the air emphasizing the parts you love and acte out the parts you hate.
I want you to be elated when I'm interested so that I am a reminder that you're not a walking meat suit made up of lost words and sympathies.
When I ask you about something you love, be animated about it. Be sparked with life because love is not something to be trifled with.
It needs warm hands to craddle it and a passion to keep it beating.
I want to see passion stem from your roots and burn down the chard limbs of a bad day.
When we trade words of interest,
I want our faces to be so close, our cheeks brush.
I want to watch words roll off your tongue and burn into the sun with the excitement of a child.
I want to talk about poetry and beautiful things and argue about interpretations lost in translation.
I want to talk about history, art, your fears, literature, your deep dark secrets, empty houses, superheros, drunken nights, your flaws, lies you've told, your first love, first heartbreak, insecurities, dancing stars, faraway galaxies, and your childhood.
I want to dip my fingers into your cracks and know I found gold.
I want to see you smile like you aren't suffering or scared.
I want to hear your heart beat, break, and repeat.
And when we talk, I want you to remember that you are not alone.
I didn't ask about your day to fill the silence with pitty-filled exchanges.
I asked because I love watching people come to life after a long day of trying to live.
I like to inspire people to connect their mouths and minds- speak truthfully.
Hear the tap of my finger on your shoulder and swallow your pride.
Tell me how you really feel and I'll bury it beneath trampled soil played on by children who spoke their minds like 2am drunken men.
After it's filled, I'll let you know by planting flowers and spilling silent tears over the seeds of your emotions so that they can grow beautifully.
Because you are more than small talk or a quick conversation between strangers- you are your emotions and the depths of the ocean.
You are deep and important.
YOU ARE READING
Shut Up and Listen
PoésieVolume no. 2 Another tightrope walk through my mind. Older and Smarter. I've got a better understanding of the world. PS It's not traditional poetry. So don't say that it isn't, because I know that. Thank you.
