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
understand.
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.
Listen.
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.
Maybe,
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.
