I’d rather be in love with a celebrity.
Being enamored by the real thing
only leaves me in a mess

And please don’t read this.
You’re my new obsession.
Ritualistic, I find ways
to keep you
but I thank God,
I remember like me, you’re nobody’s damn possession.
I’d like to stop seeing your face
everytime I close my eyes,
everytime I hear your laugh,
see a painting, a flash of green,
your eyes unmatched
your face can never be unseen.

I’m living somewhere behind your eyes.
I’m living while I’m breathing you into life.
I’m looking for ways to interact.
I should just let it flow.
But you’re my new damned obsession
and how much this hurts you’ll never know.
I’m crying at home now,
I’m embarrassed because I’m happy
with the one I love,
you damned peppered dove.
You’re not what I need and I’m waiting
until this limerance disease flees out of me.
I’m confused and conflicted.
Hopefully by the time this comes around to be read,
you’ll just be another friend.
However, even then,
I don’t want this play to ever end.
I go around in circles
back and forth until I’m dizzy.
The curtain comes down
and I’m the clown.

With you,
I could just be me.
You say I’m enough.
You call me your friend.
So afraid of losing you, I’m clinging tighter.
My burden as it’s fed,
grows lighter with appearance.
Inside it’s heavy like cross I bare.
I wouldn’t choose this,
this devilish ruse, this
open wound
and I keep cutting, cutting, cutting,
keeping you close as you smile at them
keeping you close
as you say it,
as we whisper to keep the peace.
Sooner rather than later,
you’ll come down from your pedestal
and become like the others,
beautiful and a human being but like no other.




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