read my lips

i pretended not to notice or care when
fallen stars crashed around me, denting the pavement i
had collapsed upon
or when he skipped his hips like a rock over the river-surfaces of my
glazed misunderstanding and misread intentions
and i thought it was enough to haunt city streets in high heels and short skirts,
cigarette in one hand and red plastic dixie cup in the other
flirting with traffic, bruised legs like mile markers
to every punishment i gave and took
as if i had something to prove
enough to always be the one who held back with a smile,
teasing with morning-after breath
and slamming the door on the face of opportunity
but it was never really was,
and secrets bounced in echoes around the ripples and ridges of my throat so i kept my mouth shut,
building cages of metaphors and fear to lock myself in
wishing i had the right moments and
biting my tongue to keep from ruining perfectly good second chances
but alone i upturned bottles
to whisper confessions to the bottoms and
shut myself off for a while
it worked momentarily... ...until
my fingers slipped and could no longer hold the cracks in my foundation together
the truth is that sometimes i say too much,
and sometimes it's not enough,
and most of the time i give half-chewed answers that do nothing except create more questions
but this is all i've got to give-- confusing lines
and a lack of rhyme,
all tangled together to look for an answer fitting vaguely spelled-out questions;
underneath a microscope it begs
"am i wasting my time... or is time wasting me
do you miss me at all or do you finally feel free"
and for once i'm not scared of the answer,
only determined to hear it