Ocean Blues and You

I have responsibilities and chores to do

but my mind keeps bringing me back to you

like the ocean always returning to the shore.

You come over and lie in my bed,

vulnerable only when you choose.

Experience has taught you, you cannot be kept safe

under anyone’s care but your own.

You leave before the Midnight Moon or I can tuck you in.

 

I have a tendency to run from arms that are stretched open

for me. A tendency to think when people take

an interest in me, they only mean to pry me open with an oyster knife and leave

me empty. Your past has taught you that anyone can leave if they want to try.

So you don’t pry and you don’t ask why, but you always stay

 

Yet still, we keep each other at an oar’s length distance,

afraid that our pasts will crash against our lifeboats once more.

Topaz worries and indigo insecurities make me heavy and drag me down to drown.

Sand isn’t stable ground to rely on, but even concrete can crack.

We all have flaws and if you think too long, all you will notice is what we lack.

I don’t know much, but I know I want to go swimming with you.

 

-November 2015

11 comments

  1. I like this. It seems to be a running monologue of the thought process, the stream of consciousness, the butterflies, and then a decision to be together at the end.

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      1. Do you experience that phenomenon where you write without knowing how a piece will turn out? I do all the time.

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      2. I usually decide to leave it unanswered. Happy endings feel good, but they aren’t always what happens.

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