The Talk

I think it’s time

we had a conversation.

Sit right there

and take my hand.

Tell my why

and tell me because

I want to understand.

Think I want to



Then you cry

and I try

my best not to.

The words come out

through a veil of tears.

No accusations,

no recriminations,

just the facts;

what it feels like.


Are you feeling afraid?

I think I know,

but do I really know?

All your words,

pass through my won impressions.

Is my empathy

the real thing?

Or am I possibly projecting?

Burdening you further

with my

menagerie of psychopathies

and dismal,

dark infatuations.


Can I get a hold

of what I am told?

Can I

truly make a difference

in your life?

Sit down.

Shut up.


Put myself on hold

for ten fucking minutes

and really hear

what you’re saying.


This is the hardest part,

because I’ve grown used to

only thinking about myself.

Here you are,

laying out

your soul for me to see

and I don’t think that I’m

equipped to do it well.


So I’ll just try

to be careful

and loving,

or at least how I imagine

it should be.

Maybe I have to be

not how I am,

but how I want to be.

Maybe if I just

sit down,

shut up

and pay attention,

I would finally hear you.


Maybe then,

I wouldn’t be so self absorbed,

hearing your words

and considering their meaning.

Knowing where

your tears

and your fears

come from

and lose the mystery.


If I only

started treating us

both as human beings,

together in this;

forever in this,

I could be

a better companion.


This place,

is big enough for both of us,

but not just one of us.

Not alone.

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