
On a Tuesday

I don't write. I create.


The Inside of Love
I pressed call and called you and you answered.
We spoke and I laughed, you cried and we understood one another.
At that point, I believed we clicked.
Only, it wasn’t too long before you faded and the pages caught fire. I wanted these words to be permanent. Life does not kiss hearts with pink.




You say one thing and do another.
You’re like, ‘ask me anything, we can talk about anything.’
I speak and you act like you’re shocked by my choice of words. Then you go silent for a while – resurfacing as nothing happened and ask, ‘are you okay?’
I mean, we are grown!
Yet, you act as though I have poisoned our conversation and crawl back to base, only to whimper a little.
Why are you so conformed to a false narrative, delivered by our society?
I look at you and think? Right! Okay!
The things you choose to do, allow me to see you under one hundred, hundred-watt lights.
Get some sealant and box yourself in.
Stay down.

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