At times I've shouted out unprovoked, at the world and you,
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Just to see if the people around me react.
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Sometimes I think they're all acting,
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At times I'm scared that I'm acting too. Like,
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My movements or stage directions?
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Was that a change in topic or a beat in a scene?
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Have I been taking my emotional cues from a script I wrote at sixteen?
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Maybe I just think about it all so much
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That that the fear stays close to all the ghosts I've touched.
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Makes me question
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Was it love or just lust?
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Caked in blood or old rust?
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I don't know.
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Don't we remember all the moments we remember the best
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Framed in poems and in pictures, sang aloud in refrains?
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Does this cycle of pain and disdain for the past
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Not work exactly the same?
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Maybe it's just as much about what comes our way as it is how we react.
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Just as much about the things that we've still got as it is about the things we lack.
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I know, we won't always keep around all we feel we need-
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some are fading in frames, some were born to leave-
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But if we're still here, and we still breathe,
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At least we've still got time to figure it out,
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To know what to do,
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To know how to feel,
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Know the things that I've been making up inside my head,
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And to know what's real.
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I want to believe that the way I am is just the way it goes.
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For the things that came, not the things I chose
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to come.
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I want to know if I had any control.
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I want to know if it'd comfort me.
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And if my heart just stops, pack my memories in it-
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I want to know all the love I've got.
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And if my heart just stops, keep me alive for a minute-
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I want to know if a curtain drops.
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-----------------
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Why It Scares Me
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| La Dispute |
