I hate knowing
at the end of the night
you didn't wonder where I was,
you didn't just miss the way my figure feels
but how your thoughts find their way around mine,
how a strong spirit manifests,
how it altruistically gives when the feeling is right.
Maybe I expect too much and that's my imminent flaw.
but maybe it's that I won't settle
for meaningless action,
having seen the narrative repeat itself so many times over
waiting as if the antagonist might someday become good,
as if I might actually find the respect that I deserve -
the man that knows
that even if he abandons the labels,
even beyond the construct of time,
he remains bound to the orbit,
an inexplicable magnetism,
watches how she glows in the dark
and is marveled each time.
And I know it'll be too late by the time you realize -
the special kind of energy
that she yields
simply will not turn up
when you find yourself
searching for it
in the palms of someone else.
My optimism keeps expiring.
It could be more correct to say
my imminent flaw
is knowing that the number of people
who cannot bear the weight
of this being
I can only anticipate
watching my mom cry the tears that no longer have the energy to come out of me
when she hears
to her beautiful daughter
-the real world