I am suddenly feeling I'm closer to human
and turning the knobs that are making me think
I am feeling a sense that is closer to truth
and I'm watching myself down the drain in the sink
I am telling myself how myself wants to be
and the bitch of it is that it's not what I think
I am sending the signals that noone wil hear then
I'm watching TV just to know what to say,
and I study the things that they do to protect
what they have in themselves
that would make them that way.
I am here watching people, pretending I know them
and I'm telling them what to expect or ignore.
I am feeling myself becoming more human
and watching myself becoming a whore.
You can't tell by looking
how beautiful she is.
to look you would never know
the sound of little mouse-harp strings
snapping in my head.
how a kiss becomes a story
or a look becomes a beginning
I smile and she blushes,
eyes down
she knows who I am
and how I work.
this is the thing we have
all our tears
a part of everything we do
all our days filled with yes
you can't tell by looking
how beautiful, with her, I've become.
even on a good day
picking up the crying shreiking screaming freaking phone
is more commitment than I am prepared for
as if accepting the unknown
is a leap of faith gone wrong
is a tresspass on my right to self
determination
is bound by the pavlovian
nets and ever arbitrary
ropes and hooks of behavior
learn to hate
learn to hate
if I had to be honest
and I have to, even on a good day
I'd admit to neurosis as freedom
and submit to relief as deciding
no
