Your greetings are psychological conditioning
(you're worth it, i don't mind, good morning)
The lies are relative, what matters is that I believe them.
21 June, 2013
06 June, 2013
tense.
She will come and tell you what she thinks, but you will stand your ground. You will tell her who you are and who you will be and she will fight you on it. She will say no, no you are not who you think you are. You are much much more, she will say.
She holds you, and you don't know how she does (she's such a tiny little thing), but she does and you can't move. She pulls herself to you -- you're still frozen -- she holds you tightly, so much so it's almost painful, because you can almost feel all the pieces of herself she's trying to get back.
You will be too flustered. How dare she tell you who you are. But she had seen you sleeping and seen you seething and had stayed through it, singing you into a tomorrow that thought better things. Nevertheless, you remain insistent. You can't, you won't, she should mind her own business! It really doesn't matter anyhow.
She slumps her shoulders and you can almost feel the disappointment she carries. You can almost see it in the curve of her back and in the way her fingers are slipping carefully around yours.
Her voice began to sound the way you feel after a long day. She composed herself the best she could, and before leaving, she gave you the most ceremonious last glance you've ever received, one so good you could only dream of giving it. It was like a flash of color, first yellows and reds, and then faded pastels, a dirty white. A dusty canvas.
You were a bit too harsh maybe. Too strong. But she shouldn't have said anything! Never mind that she had your best interests at heart, she was wrong. Did you really shout at her, her of all people. Were you really so cruel.
How could she turn you into a monster.
She holds you, and you don't know how she does (she's such a tiny little thing), but she does and you can't move. She pulls herself to you -- you're still frozen -- she holds you tightly, so much so it's almost painful, because you can almost feel all the pieces of herself she's trying to get back.
You will be too flustered. How dare she tell you who you are. But she had seen you sleeping and seen you seething and had stayed through it, singing you into a tomorrow that thought better things. Nevertheless, you remain insistent. You can't, you won't, she should mind her own business! It really doesn't matter anyhow.
She slumps her shoulders and you can almost feel the disappointment she carries. You can almost see it in the curve of her back and in the way her fingers are slipping carefully around yours.
Her voice began to sound the way you feel after a long day. She composed herself the best she could, and before leaving, she gave you the most ceremonious last glance you've ever received, one so good you could only dream of giving it. It was like a flash of color, first yellows and reds, and then faded pastels, a dirty white. A dusty canvas.
You were a bit too harsh maybe. Too strong. But she shouldn't have said anything! Never mind that she had your best interests at heart, she was wrong. Did you really shout at her, her of all people. Were you really so cruel.
How could she turn you into a monster.
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