Pretending Schmending

One of the things about being a writer
Is you write up fake conversations in your real head
Between two real people that will never be said
And then you're grasping for that minuscule shred
Of reality
Sometimes it's like that
You can't ever say that you feel things more deeply
How frustrating when the right words won't spring forth
You want to describe the way you fell in
To yourself
You want to describe how you can never feel well
Again
Even as you sit on your bed cheerfully drinking whatever it is
That you claim obsession with
So I ask myself this
When I sit back and think
How much of it's real
How much pretending

Lucky

Attractive is not a word
That aptly describes him
Simply, he's beautiful
You could liken the line of his jaw
To warm feel of chicken soup as it
Settles in your stomach
Much like the fleeting thoughts of him do
After they've passed
The curve of his wrists
Smoothness in his hands
Draws comparison to tree-lined paths
In fall, and leaves crunch under your feet
Much like he awareness that he exists
Inside the same sphere
As you
His laugh and the way he speaks
Nuances and
Little things
All boiled down to this
Fantastic human being
Those that get to be close to him
They are lucky

Loose Cannons

Loose cannon loose cannon loose cannon loose cannon
Hands shaking hands shaking hands shaking hands shaking
Play the martyr play the witch play the good girl play the game
I wish the masses would comply
To the easy standards set today
And I understand the anger
But that's never been my pain
Those feelings they are fleeting
But in others stew for days
For now all is quiet but not the type of
Waiting for a storm to pass
Liken it to one beginning
Throw two of the same into a cage
And tell them to go at it
There can be no winning in identical pairs
My shoulders sag with relief