to look at, to wonder at

I am the flower in the mirror,
the moon on the surface of water

I am the shadow behind you,
the Mona Lisa

I am a mirage,
the beautiful dreams that are unattainable

I am the sun setting or rising,
the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel

I am the beauty that you can only see,
but can’t touch

I am the beauty that you can only feel,
but can’t touch

the intervention

It’s not your decision whether someone falls in love with you or not.
And I agree for the most part.
But I struggle with it.
I struggle with all of it.

I sit in silence absorbing every word while you chat amongst yourselves.
I want to defend but I can’t argue what I can’t articulate.
It’s like white noise inside my head.
Instead I laugh. I shrug it off. It is what it is.

I’m not deflecting. I’m not being defensive.
Or at least I don’t mean to.
I’m an open book.
Or at least I thought I was.

Do you feel like you’re letting a barrier down if you openly talk about things?
Do you find it difficult to trust people?
Were you mistreated in an old relationship?
Why don’t you feel?

If I knew the answers I wouldn’t be the disaster that I am.
But trust me when I say that I’m doing you a favour.
You don’t want the toxicity.
You don’t need the burden.

Just ask those who tore down that wall.
I’m the parasite.
The gnat.
The switchblade.

There are never any positive adjectives.
Just a bitter after taste.
An off flavour.
A bad habit.

A beautiful mess
But a mess no less.