i thought i did something that made you mad
made you hate the way i blink
or hate the way i shiver when it’s cold outside
i thought i did something that just
made you look at me the wrong way
did i say….something?
was it something that slipped
from my lips?
i can safely assume that
it didn’t mean shit-
i talk a lot.
and a lot of what i say doesn’t mean much.
it’s just hunch, i guess
but if i were pressed,
i could not recall saying something so terrible
something so awful that you could not bear
to look at me anymore
this isn’t fair-
i asked what was wrong
you said nothing- or that it was something
but, now, you didn’t care,
and i wasn’t sure
if you meant you didn’t care about
what i did or what i said
or if you meant you didn’t care about
it’s just that this state of quiet ambiguity
doesn’t relieve me from thinking
of every worst-case-scenario.
your silence or inability to speak
just gives me more time to think about
this terrible thing i must have done….
or this atrocious thought i may have uttered….
I felt this cold breeze, under your breath….
i shivered- you shuddered...
and i’m not sure if it’s just coincidence anymore
it’s like i am a scene from a gory horror movie
and you are not a fan of the grotesque
you try to watch me, you try your best,
but can’t help to look away when my parts
get a little messy or get a little dark.
eventually you can’t appreciate me
just by peaking through your fingers
eventually i am too gruesome
for you to convince yourself
that i am worth watching…
eventually, you tell me,
you’re more into thrillers,
that they’re a little more your speed
and that you don’t feel the need to
shut your eyes at the best parts….
that thrillers are more sophisticated
and horror is overrated,
but you don’t mind that i like it
and i worry that you do mind
and that i am now synonymous with horror
and bad taste
and maybe that’s why you can’t look at my face?
or maybe i’m just looking too much into
and that over-analyzing things like this is just
one of my many defenses
but what else do i do?
i’ve already asked you and you said it was nothing
but the change in the way you say “i love you”
feels like something…
feels like goosebumps on my skin
feels like dry, dry, cottonmouth
and cracked lips,
feels like swallowing a stone
and it sitting in my stomach, sinking,
me just sitting there, thinking
about how our dynamic has shifted
from sweet kisses on each other’s shoulders
to big boulders in stomachs
from soft skin against soft skin
to rubbing, rough, goosebumps
with sickened hands
you are disgusted by the curves
that once captivated you
and i cannot conceive the reason why.
and you cannot bring the words,
“i love you”
to the tip of your tongue,
not like when we were young
and things were good
and i hadn’t said the thing
or done the deed
make you hate me so much
how could i have been such…
have i been anything…?
aside from who i’ve always been?
have i always been this way?
i don’t think i’ve changed
i’ve always liked horror movies
and i’ve always laughed too loud,
talked too much,
been too emotional
i’ve always shivered when it’s
though my definition of cold has changed.
do you not like the way i think 45 degrees
is t-shirt weather?
or that 75 degrees is too hot?
is that the why you’d rather not
share the covers?
because your “too cold”
is my “just right?”
and we can’t agree on a suitable
i can change my thermostat-
make you comfortable,
i am willing to change
i can start watching thrillers
and be more sophisticated,
i will do my best to
all i ask is to be
but if you can't do that
and you insist on staying silent,
then i insist you just let me leave
because i can’t carry your
and i refuse to look into straying eyes-
i am worth your time
i am worth all of the time that
i have left on the world
and i won’t leave soon-
not the world….
but maybe you.