Where you are it’s 2 a.m.
and you exist in sleep
six hours apart from me—
on a future date, in fact.
For you, it’s already tomorrow
but I’m stuck here in the past
at 8 p.m. writing a night poem
about your yesterday—
about the way we almost
told the truth
with a code of black letters
on a white screen and through
a thoughtful exchange of music
which is always dangerous
because lyrics can mean
almost anything you want them to
if you want them to—
and I wanted that song
you shared with me to mean
you wouldn’t be the man
to ruin my life—
even though you wanted to.
DeMaris Gaunt
11-23-16
Sometimes I think I’m broken. So much I wish I could get off my chest but which I have to keep secret because knowledge would tear apart the one I have chosen to live in love. Like, how many times a day I fall in love, where I see someone and my heart just starts pounding in my chest. Sometimes I think maybe I can never truly love, since I feel so strongly about so many, often caused by little more than a glance at her face, or the sound of her voice. I hide behind a façade of intellect and purpose, but in truth, sometimes I think I’m broken.
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