Foreign (041018)

it’s like we don’t even speak the same

language anymore

like we’re strangers

who’ve always known each other

but pretend not to

because being true

telling the truth

we would risk getting hurt

i used to be able to take that risk with

you

used to let you in

but maybe i did it for the wrong reason

i thought if i let you in

that you would do the same for me

always expectations

how do i let go

of wanting you to love me?

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Reflecting on My Metaphor

i am a typewriter and someone else is pressing the keys

i am a match that won’t light

i am yarn, frayed and unraveling

i am glue that never dries

i am words written backwards

i am a stone that can’t skip

i am lukewarm coffee

i am a pen out of ink

i am an empty spool of thread

i am a threadbare sweater

i am a left sock without a right

i am a flower, always wilting

i am written in an unspoken language

i am all consonants and no vowels

i am a broken vase, not yet mended with gold

i am a butterfly with broken wings

i am an owl without voice

i am loaded scales with no counter weights

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Painfully aware
of the shape of my own face,
as I squinted to avoid
the heat of the sun
and I thought I could see
better beyond the curve,
just as I thought the wall
would protect me from the wind
blowing in the wrong direction.
Maybe there’s a metaphor here,
if you find it
you’re more poetic than I
because I was only being literal.