how many times is too many
to remind you
how much
ily
when i only pretend
that your mine
it was scary
to show my guts
to lift up my shirt
to read off a paper
a prewritten text
a version of my story
that i'm starting to believe
one that is cold
sanitized
unhysterical
it makes sense
even when my thoughts
and my whispers do not
and it doesn't feel
~spectacular~
it doesn't feel
~risky~
enough
to have been born from pain
because
i'm an adult now
i guess
and i'm sad i'm starting to do things
that are generic
that i'm becoming
g
because all the things i ever wanted
and the things i fling my body
after
are
all
designed
to
ruin --
and not in the way that insights ~prose~
my dreams are shrinking
and the worlds
in my worlds
in my worlds
are disappearing
but rather, the other way
i'm seeing ~logistically~
that i don't have time
to
be
emotional
and i don't miss it
feeling
it feels better without
driving ahead
laser focus
tight curves & edges
colors
& sounds
& stories
are losing their meaning
as i'm losing mine
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