Author: tolerate PM
I never was your perfect fit.Rated: Fiction M - English - Poetry - Words: 572 - Reviews: 1 - Published: 01-20-13 - Status: Complete - id: 3093678
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
We've had three lives
and I still wasn't your perfect fit.
I will remember to plant lotuses in the sea you once lived in.
My eyes will start to grow on my feet, and I've had bad days like all people do.
I take wrong roads that had blurry signs—now toenails grow inward
to spite me like a jealous concubine with smudged mascara
and a hysterical half smile.
It wasn't my fault that
I was short and that I couldn't kiss you back.
I was always your short-sighted first wife with an over sigh,
your short-lived minute dream you talked about in your sleep, and the one time you woke me up
to tell me we were words to be written, language to be deciphered,
and canvas to be filled.
I was a head with a block,
so you didn't make sense to me.
You didn't make sense, ever.
You are a copycat.
When I say I will throw the small stones into a pond,
you tell me you can throw better, and you throw the big boulders into the sea.
You are a puzzle set on the unbeatable level, and none of us ever wins, but you love to compete.
It was always me that ate the meat off the fishes.
It was always you that ate their bones with the salt lungs.
You never go home full; you're always a hungry beast.
But I'm not your paid meal or your fancy dinner—neither you to me—
I'm just a home for you to live in and feel warm. Pay your rent like you should
and my stomach becomes the blue shape
of a pregnant balloon.
I want to surf
our nights away on tides.
I hate the nights,
so I eat them slowly.
There is fire at my feet, and I walk to you.
You are separated of your flaws; the night hides you away from me
because it loves you and it wants you to be theirs.
You shake your head. You remember I loved you in blemishes,
and we disappear into lambent rooms. I steal you, thief, away and
I hide you in these white bedspreads. Our walls are thinner than the skins
that shelter us. We are fugitives on the run.
We're both thieves now— we stole all the rooms in this motel,
so I think we should run.
Who's your twin? He's just not as melodramatic as you;
he doesn't keep that cocky grin you have. Girls hated you for that—
they think you're mocking them. I used to think different,
and I see you.
The H in your name stands for Hesitant.
I know you, baby, I do. You can do what you like with me, but you aren't stepping any closer
and you aren't looking in my eyes. So strip me, we're pretty used to this, aren't we?
It's the third time. You'll do the same thing and whisper words I don't listen to,
but this time, I say, this time I'll listen.
I want to be made new. Create me,
remake me—like how moss forms from rust in frown lines,
like how light grow themselves from crack in your laugh lines—
make me your Oxygen.
I want to be inside you.