when does charm metamorphose into
manipulation? it’s a question that’s
plagued me for weeks now
and even in the clarity of a bright
february afternoon i see only
milky faded photograph memories
of moments considered charming
then manipulative then charming again
and it’s not like this time i can
ask anyone what they think
because a million people will see it a
million ways and none of it is mine
i force my head into a linear expression
to be confined by language, to
give concrete evidence to what i
witnessed, what i participated in,
in the hope that definition will
come, but it only allows me to
interpret every look, every word
a different way, every time
i envy those who can be satisfied
with the assurance that a
situation would have turned
out in their favor had the cards
fallen slightly different, because
i will never be satisfied with pure
knowledge of a situation, i will
always seek out definition and
evidence and cold hard facts
(which sometimes most times
are not so very cold at all)
even though definition never comes
to me and i am swirled deeper
inside the mess i leave my brain in daily
left to dreams and conjured images
of what had happened between
two people breathless fierce tender
passion waves of recognition forced
over my empty stomach and
throbbing head as i awake
sweating twisted drooling wide-eyed
and pain in my back
this is what definition with no
answer provides me, this is the
melodramatic misery that tastes
so sweet on a warm winter’s day


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