Jackson XXI

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I never wanted to write this poem. But I have to because when I look at you, I see someone I don’t know. When you look at me, your eyes are dead. You used to have this spark, this twinkling flame in you. It came out strongest when you looked at me. You used to be my hurricane in a jar. You used to look at me like you loved me. And here we are. All of this is in past tense. Because I sat across from you for 20 minutes tonight alone in an empty studio and it was like sitting in a room with someone I’d never met before and didn’t particularly want to get to know. I don’t like you anymore. Something in you is dead. And I don’t know if it was a recent passing or if I’m just now realizing it. 
You are running. Running so fast and so hard. From your past. From your demons. From yourself. And I keep expecting you to be whole and peaceful. I keep expecting you to not be running. But you are and you can’twon’t stop for anything. Anyone. And I can wish us on happy thoughts and fairy dust to Neverland and back but you still, still, won’t stop running. And here we are. You slowed for a while. You tripped over me and decided that the girl who made you happy was worth slowing for. Maybe fooled yourself into believing you could stop running for a bit. Fooled us both. 
But it’s been three years and your demons are catching up. The hell hounds are nipping at your heels and if you look too closely into the mirror you just might see yourself. You might see you how I do. How I used to. We can’t have that. So here we are. You’re running, running, always running, once again. Away from the demons. Away from you. And I’m slaughtering my demons and realizing I deserve more than you can give. And I loved you and I liked you and I believed in you and I was so proud of you with everything my inexperienced heart had to give. And here we are. I likelovebelieveinamproudof you from a distance. I don’t have any idea who you are when I’m sitting next to you. And here we are.
 I’m sitting in an empty room across from the man who has been the emotional center of my universe for 1 year and 9 months and there is a chasm between us that can’t be crossed. We are two feet and universes away. And you are trying so hard. Making jokes and teasing and playing. And you are distracted. And I am chattering like a maniac with a forced smile. Trying to make the silence less heavy. Beating a dead horse. And you are on your phone and we are talking about the weather and I am looking at my hands. And all I can think is “How the hell did we get here?” And here we are. And I never wanted to write this poem. 

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