There are still some corners of the world that you can disappear into. Physical ones, real ones, fully tangible, byte-free. Ones discovered on urban hikes, rambles, thoughtless walks, tiny adventures through familiar landscapes.
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
You want to make the world scream and hollow
because you fear you are nothing,
you are an unextraordinary,
unaborted caged regret.
I hate to be told “Smile, you look mean”.
So, what if I am?
Love is a buoy shaped like a triangle,
equal on all sides,
whose three points are Us joined from two whole “I”s.
I wonder if I like to stretch the future into forever, or at least into “not yet”,
so that I can delay decisions whose outcomes disappoint,
or require meeting great expectations.
Against the will of others, I lean hard.
I lean hard against my door:
iron; reinforced; made for struggle.
Sometimes when I’m on the floor, child’s pose,
I look under my bed at the empty untouched landscape,
It doesn’t need to be filled.
I would have been really good at love if only I had the chance.
X: You’re not as invincible as you pretend to be.
Y: I’m not pretending.
X: You forget, I’ve seen you curled up in the darkest corners of your life.