moments

 I'm claustrophobic in this moment. No map or dialogue tree to guide me, I'm trapped and afraid you might see. I hope you do, so you know I don't fear you, but the trope of the moment. What I show you is me at my weakest, devoid of dreams, homeless in the street. What I show you is my paralyzed state, forged and molded everyday since I could say. Trauma, you know. Am I stupid, do you think? Too anxious to breathe in these little moments? Do you suppose that there's more to the story? Are you inclined to ask? Do you refrain to find comfort in the mask? My lips never meet the hum of my heart, and neither do yours. It's a courtesy. I aim to please my demons, it's easier than seeking sainthood in the weeds we've created. Or was it only me? Why do I sense a superficial tone? Is that what you hear from me? Don't feel the need to laugh, give it only if you believe I deserve the kindness. I say it with a straight face, but it comes from a place of love. Authentic, true. Dispassionate but kind. I'll time my next conversation, how long I speak vs you. My half-phrases and cheap aphorisms color me blue, and do you a disservice. But I have trouble connecting these words, it's almost as if I forget by the moment I remember the gist of the situation. Fluency was never a virtue when I was young. I was protected from the performative vocal runs, but I missed out on the passionate diatribes sung. Maybe that's what drew me to poetry, speaking slowly in quick succession. Philosophize to get the gist of it all, so in a tested moment, I will not falter. To give the most beautiful vows at the altar. But that's neither here nor there. I think of the moments of love and peace. To me, it seems just a dream. Holding quietly, my head resting on her heart as she steadily breathes, hand-in-hand as we feel the weight lift from our sleeves. Simple quotations with meaning, she'll always remember what I said to her, and I know it, too. Her voice gently calms me and lets me feel free, and I do the same when her heart is heavy. Even my daydreams are torturing, I'm stuck in this maze called fantasy. Who I am is not who I planned to be, and I want somebody to believe in me. To believe I can be, authentically. Naive? We live only one life, I'd rather be silly than depressed. If you see my airhead, just know it might pop, and the gun of my heart will immediately drop. I hope I find peace when I sleep tonight. If I lay in bed, just pray I don't fear the fight. I can control my might. There is strength in my sight, though my vision is poor. I close the door on these final words, and know oh-so much was left unsaid. Some things I said wrong, and some sentiments were lies. But I tried my best. And if I die, just read this back, and think on it. That's all I can ask for. Just smile for me. That's all I want. Just think of me kindly. That's all I need.