Looking Through Me


It’s too bad I can’t kiss his lips.

I’m not attracted to them.

But, if I were, he would reject me.

For my stories are buried deep

And they cannot be read easily

It is as if, I shouldn’t exist.

You see…

The problem with being buried deep

Under the frosty top, is that I see

The mist for what it truly is

He edits the mist.

He looks for countries caught

In eternal Octobers, Stories about

Leaves and lives, the constant state of fall

It is the arc of the descent he catches

Like holding on to a match for too long.

If I were to put my hand upon his chest

He would jerk away from

the coldness of my fingertips

I have stuffed my heat deep

Sometimes, I can’t even feel warm.

My tears aren’t made of kerosene

I’ve been to the ocean too many times


41 thoughts on “Looking Through Me

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