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a truth i’d write about

Updated: Sep 19, 2021

in an effort to return one’s appreciation in the best way one knows how

if you must know, the truth that i write about

is the way you’ve managed to bruise every part that i’ve rebuilt

and yet i cannot appoint whether the fault is in fact yours or mine

was there a line we were meant to foremost draw

and if so, had it not been scratched onto the low lit pavement before my house

that 30 past however late i learnt of her presence

and the present that it quickly became

somehow, in exchange, i’m still out here showing you my favourite spot and least loved flowers

around the chessboard that is my neighbourhood because we’re such good friends

i refuse to get the short end of a stick i myself carved

for had i starved the juvenile in your genuine

better yet, the naive in my walk around the museum that was your mind

hands holding onto the entrance ticket as if your hands handed it to mine

then i wouldn’t have needed the walks to underline how this chessboard is not set for 2 queens

now between my being an emotional slut

and your downright oblivious nut

the worse part isn’t even necessarily the contexts you wrote aloud

but rather the reality that your words could foxtrot the way mine could only write about

and the reality that your loudest words will not be about me

you see, at the beginning of it all

i said i wouldn’t do this to myself again but here i am

playing chess with shiny new scrabble pieces

angry because even when i told myself

i stopped myself

i made myself promise it wouldn’t be

between what is and isn't written

there was a truth that it is you


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