Originally posted on my personal blog on August 17, 2013.
I’m no good at this game and I despise its players. Aside from a hood I can’t hide my layers and it isn’t enough to disguise my face.
Sure, I cry in spurts but I’ve been dry for months. I can’t remember the hurts that had my throat in lumps and I’m not certain I miss the taste of tears; the wasted years spent embracing fear so hard I thought I’d never let go.
So, who am I now and of which girls making? Being unsound in song makes us switch the station but then no tune is ever fully played. And we don’t dance no more since we fear the steps. All we do is this, yes, all I do is this, heck, all you do is that thing that has you always missed and I still wish I could be a mister to a miss; stressed.
From what I heard romance is no longer cool. So I'm still fortunes fool and eluding luck, my thread of hope has been diminished to a spool.. from which I’ve sewn nothing that’s lasted longer than a fleeting mood. A few evening grooves, me just being honest and she’ll see I’m not the easiest dude to get along with, I’m just great to accompany the booze.
Vomit, and I’m still reeling; bedding with a friend just to fend off a feeling where flickered flames can still ignite a ceiling.
And this wound seems like it will never heal. Either my lack of balance or the ground’s to blame. It was traveling that made me see that some seasons don’t change and when I’m home I fear I’ll never be the same. Cus see, a man with no sense of home carries much baggage and this is more than I can hold in two hands. No matter that weight, I’ll have to carry-on.
Because when you fall out of love only one person lands and in the shade no one wants to under stand. Especially when it’s sunny and the days are long. Especially when the expression on your face is “please love me” and the actions of your crush is “let’s fuck”.
Funny, am I a man or a mannequin, a crash test dummy or a last ditch pitch at the sun? I think I may not only be just one.
So I run like I’m being fearlessly chased. So my heart can feel beat from the pace. Instead my heart feels broke from losing my option. It’s a slippery slope and hearts are delicate things to walk on, God, why did you choose to wear heels? To make me feel smaller or make you feel taller or make things more awkward for when we walk in the mall and I don’t fit into the crowd at all?
Love, you were too high a height for this fall. How can your everything feel like nothing at all?- Bryan Espiritu #brycry