Please

Talk to me. Give me some kind of peace. Say sorry. Or that you were lying. Or something. Because you don't know what's happening and the worst case scenario is you finding out too late.

The new plan.

Instead of worrying about winning them
I've just got to work hard at becoming who they need.
Then the right one will come along.
And if they're already along,
Then the right one will settle down.

One of them is good at this,
The other, the older, has never been so.
And that's why I'm still shackled.
So if I learn with one,
The right one will reveal themselves.

Just to be a hypocrite though,
I don't know how you just smile.
I just don't know.
And I read back some emails from long ago,
And I still laughed.
And I remembered that I'm not fundamentally unlovable,
I've just never been able to sustain,
To hold you. Any of you.
So maybe it's all my fault.

Either way, this is my new plan.
I am my new plan.
And you are my old plan.

Simile. Metaphor.

I do not yet love well,
But boy, do I love hard.
I'm the squishy, slimy snail
With the crunchy shell.
I cry with my eyes closed,
I dream with my heart open,
I don't know who I am,
But I know who I would like to be.
Ouch, suppression. It hurts.
It's like heart burn. It is heart burn.

Pause.

Do not let my fickle flesh go to waste
As it keeps my heart and soul in its place.
And I will love with urgency
But not with haste.