It is quiet this morning and sunny and beautiful and
I refuse to play this game of tennis you’re proposing.
Of ping pong, of beer pong, of blood pong with racquetballs.
Night will fall and still
I won’t let your big brown eyes puppy dog and lead me to the East River again
because I’ve lost too many of my parts there.
I was wrong to say you are the ocean
I was wrong to drive and to dance to Miles for miles under the moon
I was wrong to assume
I was wrong to interpret
I was wrong to let you see broken statues behind my eyes
I was wrong to try
I was wrong to feel
I was wrong to speak
I was wrong to think
I was wrong but I feel alright.
I ran from Chelsea to you
I ran from Weston for you
I ran down the Hudson with you
I ran from my self and watched my step
but you hated that too and so I tripped
and now I am tired
I am tattered
I am torn
and I don’t want your kisses
I don’t want your pretty words
I don’t want your ears
I don’t want your eyes
I don’t mind your hair
I don’t want your sympathy
and I don’t want a response because
if you think pretty is all my words are
you just haven’t been paying attention to where they come from.
And that is completely fine.
Just don’t ask me what I mean when I say
“You weren’t there.”
It makes it seem like I did something terrible
we are learning