I could've gone to bed
Two hours ago
But there have been
So many better
Things to do
Like mostly
Talking to you

I wonder if it's
Self centered
To say that
One of my favorite
Things about you
Is that you like me
Genuinely
For who I am
But you smiled
When I told you
So maybe you need
No explanation
To understand
Exactly
What I mean

I hope my mom
Doesn't still cry
Every time
I pack my bags
To go to my dad's
But I wouldn't be
Surprised
If she did

I do wonder though
Whether I'd be surprised
If she didn't
And I wonder too
Whether she still
Thinks of the bag
That always travels
With me
As hers

The fan spins
So quickly overhead
That the whole thing
Shakes and wobbles
As I,
In between blinks
That are more like naps-
Telling of a sleepless night-
Sip at my third cup of tea
Which threatens
To burn
My lips, my hands, my tongue-
But I think
Too much in metaphor
And if it hurt
As much physically
To kiss someone
Or hold someone's hand
As it would emotionally
Then maybe
I'd learn more quickly
The things that are
Truly bad for me...
But after another sip
I know that the threats of burns
Were empty so
I continue
To lay on this couch
And sip my tea,
And think about sleeping,
And wonder idly; carelessly
Whether that fan,
Which shakes in a chaos
Contained by the stability
Of the surrounding stone walls,
Will come
Crashing down

We usually
Make tea together
In the mornings
And I just wish
We could still
Find the time
To hold hands
And slowly drink it
Together

Whenever I grimace
Or cringe
It feels on some level
Like I'm just an actor
Making faces
For society
Because goddess forbid
I should ever show
My genuine
Lack of empathy

(Maybe you thought
If you cut yourself
It'd be clear
To yourself
That you weren't just
Acting.
I wonder
If it worked.
I doubt
That it did.)

I look across the table
And my eyes catch yours
And I wonder briefly,
If without the pressures,
We could be happy
As two parts of a whole

But then I look away
From your eyes and I
Gaze outside instead
Thinking that maybe
I'd be happier out there