[ spoken word poem ]
loving me is like loving a ghost.
it's hard to make the most of my situation when every day feels like i'm watching my life pass by from the sidelines.
walking into a room feels like viewing a movie from an audience; sometimes when I become aware of the tomb that I am trapped in i choke on the dust that surrounds me.
when you kiss me, i feel like my body and mind are one in the same.
when you let go i miss the way your lips seemed to fit perfectly onto mine, the way you pulled me closer, the way you seemed to love the curve of my hips and the dullness of my jawline and the muddy specks in my eyes.
When you kiss me, I feel like the house my mind is trapped in becomes a home, becomes a resting place I can call my own, becomes me, and i become it.
When you kiss me, I feel real.
When you hold me, I feel like a first grade art project, paper and glitter being held together by lots and lots and lots of glue to ensure that both things will stay together and never separate.
When you grab my hand a little too tight, i appreciate the gesture because it feels like Wendy is sewing Peter's shadow back on.
When you smile at me, my heart warms as if I'm sitting next to a furnace on a ten degrees below freezing winter day. When you smile, it reassures me that hey, everything will be okay.
When you look at me, I know you don't love me. you only resurrect my corpse because you don't realize that you do it at all;
i can't bring myself to tell you that it isn't all right, not for fearing of losing a home, but in fear that Peter's shadow will escape, the glitter will fall off of the paper, and the coach will never put me in the game.
YOU ARE READING
crayola sunsets
Thơ caall i know is that i love poetry and i need to express it somewhere besides a notebook. [ r.s. 2017]
