I call this poem 'she is...'

My favourite piece written today.

She is…

 

*

 

she tries to sing

and

her voice crackles a little,

it softens

 

she’s shy, though

her music, it warms men,

and

women are torn by envy

and

I am breaking inside

 

a cello, and her voice

soft, and crackeling,

fairy lights lit-up from behind her

 

she’s been playing that thing from across this table all night,

I’m so close to her, she can see me, and I think she is looking at me,

or

at least

looking at me

looking at her

 

I can’t bare watching her

I’m already done for,

her face, her hair

she is beautiful

I can’t have her,

and

she can’t save me

or

maybe

she can…

 

though,

she is beautiful,

I’m best-off staying here,

behind this table,

I’ll hold off from this storm

love is something I’m not ready for all over again

I’ll close my eyes,

keep it all inside,

finish this beer I bought,

I promise myself I’ll leave

after

this

song

 

*

soft, and crackling,

it's almost a whisper,

and a howl.

be still, J.