flawed

I’m sorry
that I’m such a passive-aggressive weirdo
who causes drama
and pretends to be
so haughty and aloof
when in fact I am a boiling mess
of seething feelings
that I try so hard
to cover up
and deny because
the last thing I want to admit
is that I still care
way too much
when it was never warranted.

there was never an us.
you’ve said it
time and time again.
I know. but it rankles
like a thorn in my paw
and I can’t bear to admit
that I wasn’t your type.

I’m sorry
that I made you think
that I no longer value you
as a friend and as an artist
when that was never
the case.

I just can’t bear
to be straight with people
when the situation makes me
feel lesser than, unwanted,
not good enough. I have way
too much pride.

you deserved better.
you were a good friend
to me when I needed it.
you tried to let me down easy,
but I insisted
on making it hard.

my whole life
I’ve had to learn
everything the hard way.
I guess
this is no exception.

expeditions

I would go to the Himalayas
and tramp through the snow
with a sherpa carrying my luggage
on his head, searching for the footprints
of the mysterious and elusive yeti
that is your love. I would hike
through the densely wooded
forests of the Pacific Northwest,
braving the killer mosquitos,
looking for the coarse hair tufts
of the big hairy Sasquatch
that is as obscure and cryptic
as your feelings. I would look
in the mountains of Borneo,
chasing the mystical half-ape,
half-orangutan that is as mythical
and fabricated as your
heart. I would do all of this gladly,
without a qualm, rather than dare
to ask you a single personal thing
to your face.