Sounds in silence suppress me, from clichéd floorboards to glasses clinking in the sink;
to scratching beards and the shuffling of bed sheets.
Your memories are better to me than you ever were,
and when I want to break my heart, I just look in a mirror;
listening to unfinished projects, where only God forgives, but I’m not sorry.
I don’t understand business. I don’t know why I’m doing this.
They tell me there’s a bigger picture, but I don’t really see it,
because I’m running out of stories, and I don’t want to write anymore.
I don’t want to love anymore.

Missed opportunities; why didn’t I say anything?
Why can’t I read signs, yet I call myself an English major?
I blame it on not having a sister. I blame myself, and my befriending nature.
I blame the expectations I have as a writer, to create happy endings
with some sort of imagination.
There’s a fly in my orange juice, and I’m still thinking of drinking it.
I found a heart in my cereal, and I wondered what its intentions were.
Clearly not ready for a long term commitment-ship or a long-distance admission-trip
that we probably could’ve been, and now my mind’s run out of photographs,
and I’m afraid the answer’s no. I’m afraid her answer’s no.

I’m having visions, like not even in the good kind—
of seeing things and knowing I could save them—
but instead, all of you are just standing around waving,
smiling at me in the gowns from your individual weddings.
Driving back from work, it’s 8:30 in the AM,
with the windows both down, and my cold breath forms smoke rings.
That’s the closest I’ll probably ever get to smoking pot.
The 403 was crowded, so I missed my exit shot.
I get lost easilyin those eyes, in that smile, in that hair—
wishing you were still here, knowing I was once there.
I hate that you are just a name in my contacts.
I hate that you are just a name in my contacts.

I’m in love with you. There, I said it.
I just heard how it sounds: irrational, fearful, happy.
I’m afraid of how that sounds to you, what it means to you;
what you’re thinking, if you’re thinking, why you’re thinking, what you’re thinking.
I thought it was just my one-sidedness; turned out it could’ve been promising.

  • ShagunP

    Great spoken word.