When You Know Better But Don’t Care: Romantic Improv Poetry Lament

I’ve waited.
Like watching a train wreck,
my stomach churns with pained antici …


pation
for words which
never
come.

We’ve discussed
how my life
hangs on tender talk:
emails, texts, phone calls, face-to-faces
like dandelion seeds
floating on the breeze
completing the synapse
from your brain
to mine
and back.

Like a drug;
like food to the starving;
like water to the desert wanderer.
Your words feed me.
Your silence slays me
slowly.

I’ve poured my heart
into you.
I’ve opened my soul
for you,
to caress
or rip apart.
You know
my thoughts.
My desires.
My expectations.

Though they may not be fair,
those desires
and needs
still are part of me,
what drives me,
what moves me,
what helps me
feel secure
and safe.

Maybe I should be stronger.
Maybe I should trust more.
Maybe I should not care.
Maybe I should be independent.
Maybe I should release myself
from the bondage
of your silence.

Maybe someday I will.
Or maybe someday
you’ll care enough
to contact me
so the sound of silence
doesn’t explode my brain,
rip apart my soul,
tear apart my heart,
starve me
into oblivion,
into my noone-will-hurt-me
shell,
because
you know.

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One Response to “When You Know Better But Don’t Care: Romantic Improv Poetry Lament”

  1. Ann Says:

    Just had to pop in and read up on your work! Very nice work as always! Hope you are well and recovery from your wreck.

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