Time Keeper

The Friendzone; Being stuck in someone's timezone

I'm tired.

I'm tired of wearing these faces...

Not like masks,

But more like clocks.

I'm tired of seeing myself in the mirror

and watching my reflection drown in the sound of the tic... toc.

Not made by my own hands,

but more by her walk.

As she saunters among the masses.

A massive mass amassed upon the wrist

of an a*s...

And as every second passes

She brings me closer to the brink of alarm.

You see, I mean her no harm.

For I have already been imprisoned by the hands of thyme.

Rooted in Love.

Sewn with empathy.

Blessed with ambidexterity.

And the appearance to command piety.

But all it really does is induce anxiety...

It's the design of me.

The style of me.

That keeps her accessorized with an inch of grace.

The only pair of hands that swing along with her monotonous pace.

The one face she would watch when with everyday conversations she was beginning to lose taste...

You see..

I'm tired.

I'm tired of being her indication

To summon up cold gesticulation

or random revelation

To vacate every situation that ever felt close enough to real infatuation

Just because she didnt have time...

He wasn't a stranger.

Because of me, she knew him.

And she always craved a New him.

For every second gone was that same old song and I guess she just wanted a new Hymn...

To sing along to this time...

What alarms me is that her voice and my tone have already started to rhyme,

And it just brings me pain.

The only time our minds tick in sync,

is when it feels like we're suffering brain drain.

So it's probably time she changed my face frame.

'Cuz my hands are now split apart..

A Quarter to Free.

Crucified.

And she was too dazzled by the price of our novelty to afford warranty.

Perfection? Come on! Was that really what you thought of me...

But.. I'm Tired.

I'm tired of feeling like the thief that never stole.

That was caught red handed,

with something you were never able to hold.

That time after time was told he was priceless,

yet valued, labelled and branded as "24" karat Gold.

I'm tired of having the hands you never touched,

The face your lips never brushed,

The glasses your accidents always crushed,

Much like my heart...

For I'm made of feelings,

Not wires and a battery.

And it's unlawful how I let you get away with such battery...

I guess it was flattery.

Accompanying you was all that really matttered to me...

But I'm Tired of being the one that was always up to date, would be on time

and be stylin'

The First that was always a second in your heart's dividing,

The time piece that would piece together peace in your heart

so your Love would continue shining,

The One with a heart of gold that you passed up on mining.

What I'm saying is...

I'm just tired of being your ...Bad Timing.

© Addie P. Abbott

Reviews

[Tom]

Really enjoyed the imagery and pace of the poem. The rhythm of it works very well and I like the slightly sardonic tone. I feel a certain resignation in the poem, a realisation that this is simply what there is.

[Addie P Abbott]

Thanks for that Tom! Just one bit I didn't follow quite clearly. When you said you feel a certain resignation in the poem, a realisation that this is simply what there is, are you refering to the character in the poem realizing that he will be stuck in the friendzone forever and there is nothing he can do about it? or do you mean i could have gone deeper with the poem in terms of conveying a deeper meaning than what I wrote in words? ( Looking forward to hearing from you again =D )

[Tom]

I meant it in terms of the friendzone, not a lack of depth to the poem. The poem captures that sense that something could have been so good but is lost, but part of me feels that there is acceptance of this fact by the author.

[Addie P Abbott]

Definitely! Spot on! Glad to know that part was conveyed! Thanks man!