i am moving to brazil to meet a man that i can marry...

unless things get themselves into shape over here,
i'm not looking back.
the way the cosmos play these little jokes on me
(freedom draped in suffering)
i will never understand.

i understand the way it feels to want to be understood,
i understand the way it feels to want to be cared for,
i understand that you are not the one to give these things to me,
so i shouldn't even ask.

but sometimes in the middle of the night,
sometimes even in the middle of the day,
i want things to be better than the way they were.
i want them to be what they could,
not what you won't let them be.

i'm not sure how to digest the denial of trivial comfort,
of familiarity against the backdrop of your "other life."
and i will always assume the worst because
i have no idea.
and so i can't help myself
but paint imaginary monsters with the scary stories that you told
and who knows what lives under your bed?
i dont even know what your bed looks like,
or where it's positioned in the room.
i don't know what you look like propped up against the headboard
(or do you even have a headboard?)
reading a book about revoluciones,
what faces you make when you brush your teeth.

i don't know you, not in general or intimately or anything;
i'd say we are a pair of unfortunate acquaintances who happen to have a lot of
history
between them.

so i guess i'm going to pack up my things and move to brazil
so i can meet a man i can marry.
a man who will dance salsa
and sing to me in portuguese beneath simple sheets.
we will go to carnival,
and there will be no more saddness.

feeling

tired. where to put these foolish feelings? these foolish things that i am trying to reign in, i am trying to make sense of all this shit that won't be right.