I saw the moon in the day light.
It sat in the sky so majestic, and shiny. Under a sky of blue, out of place, and alone. The clouds watched it pass by wondering how this marvelous miracle could exist, in such a s*** hole of a place. Watching you pass me by is kind of like see the moon in the day light. I watch you knowing you don’t belong where you are, and that you are to beautiful to stand on this dirty ground. I watch you knowing I’ll never touch you, but am touched by you in watching the passing by. I know that even though a man could stand on the surface, he’ll never stand on your grace. I watch,
and feel
enveloped.
You’ve never failed to capture me, or my gaze. I gaze too much.
I feel more empty lately than I felt in the beginning. In beginning things you figure out an end. I am in the middle unsure, if there ever will be. I feel like I have been changed in the journey, like when the reflection was unrecognizable I could still see a person. I am not human, not superhuman either. My skin isn’t as thick as it used to be. I age like a middle aged man, loosing skin cells by the second. I figured in the figuring out I’d be somewhere unheard of before. That I would have grown into a woman with a desk job, and a tie. That I would have a coat of the thickest skin, and nothing would burrow it’s way in. Sitting here now, I have figured,
in the figuring out of things,
that I am more a child than when I was a child. My hands are muddy, my knees are skinned, my heart is fluttering, my arms are bare, and my head it clean. I feel like to figure out the figuring out, I gotta go further than the beginning. I gotta retrace steps I havn’t even taken. I have to learn, to learn, to learn, and re-learn. I gotta be clean, scrub until the blood runs from the
blood.
I watch the c*** roaches. And I hope one day I can ignore you the way I ignore them. I hope I can see you scurrying around on my best pair of underwear, and flick you off as carelessly. The burns on my arm, I hope one day your words can numb me like that. I hope that in hearing the hearing of you leaving, I can close my eyes just the same, and smile afterwards. No scar, no pain, no pleasure. Still. Numb. I want to shave my head, and I may very well. I hope one day you will come from my head like the ten thousands of hairs. I hope that you fall to the floor at my feet, the way I have yours. I hope you beg for a retracing of untraceable steps. I call a do over
of the do overs.
I call for
you.
I guess the moon comes out in the sun because of a turn of gravity. That one day out of a thousand an eclipse like that eclipses sensibility. That is what’s been holding you. That you don’t wanna fail. That you don’t wanna un-sense the sensibility. That in staying away you are staying stuck still. That you need skin to feel skinned. That you need a holding hand while sprinting. We fear knowing the unknown. As much as you know me, you still fear in the knowing. You let me see the passing, of passing things, but you’ve still got a hand held out, begging for me to clutch hold. I am clutching. For once I am doing something I have no faith in succeeding. They say in coming down with love, you’ll never come back up. The virus holds your mortality hostage. It hallucinates you into a pair of glasses, with moving pictures that vaguely resemble your life. Whoever they is, they know my life. Perhaps they are like the million theys that have fallen for you. Perhaps they are the theys begging the moon out in the day. To every day there is a night, for every night there is a day. I see you reguardless.
I see

You.