all at once
I am spared
(thankful exasperated)
unsated
colorless chewed chewing gum
saved behind her ear
life seems good
yeah
life seems good
I think of water skiing when we're together
just... gliding
counting seconds as beads
(clicking sliding)
asking, eyes wide as lollipops
"what does 'calm before the storm' mean?"
past:
regrets filed in her tin-can file cabinet
shoved frantically into places smaller than they'll fit
(like hiding porn and hand lotion from mom before breakfast, her plodding footsteps creaking the stairs)
regrets
ready to burst
cluttering our pine-fresh checkered floor
she thinks I won't love her if she tells me
the wind is picking up and
fuck if I
(read: shallow)
fuck if I hate agreeing sometimes
Author notes
This peice is about my girlfriend not wanting to tell me about her past, and the fact that I can't (and haven't, and probably won't) convince her to do so because she makes it seem so terrible and scary. This makes me feel like an apathetic, shallow jerk, as if I can't bear reality, and really, I think I should truly want to know...I tell her everything.. .there is nothing left uncovered on my behalf because I just can't plain shut up about anything, and yet I am cautiously overly-thank ful she does not tell me because I don't want altered perception to fuck with my tiny sense of good self-worth, which is made all the more substatial within our relationship . Is it like Chasing Amy, where the viewer is shown that there is no reason to ask about another person's past sexual experiences, because it just makes for unpleasant visuals and pent-up aggression? Does this have anything to do with sex? What is up with the Cubs?
Um, I hope all that fit into the poem. I hate explaining my shit, but again, I can't shut up. There must be a lack of faith in people here...sad.
One thing, above all, that needs to be said, though: I WILL love her, no matter what. I'm happy with where we're at now, and I know she'd never betray the trust I've given her. In the end, what'll matter is the time we've spent together, not whatever's gone on before us. Duh.
How's the poem?
Written October 7th, 2003
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