It didn't matter
that I didn’t get stalked back,
as I was on a one way street
traveling into a vena cava
over and over or
marching into a dirt farm
on the sidewalk
that words I imagined mouthed
deeply, coarsely never blew
into my neck or my eyebrow
the I know, I know
never written, faxed,
IM’d, scribbled on my dirty car
that I was the boy
in the bubble using sign
language, fore-finger-thumbing
the “L”, the curved fist of “E”
the single finger “T”
and continuing
“LET ME OUT”
it did not matter-
my non-reciprocated love
as I was on a one way street
traveling into a vena cava
over and over or
marching into a dirt farm
on the sidewalk
that words I imagined mouthed
deeply, coarsely never blew
into my neck or my eyebrow
the I know, I know
never written, faxed,
IM’d, scribbled on my dirty car
that I was the boy
in the bubble using sign
language, fore-finger-thumbing
the “L”, the curved fist of “E”
the single finger “T”
and continuing
“LET ME OUT”
it did not matter-
my non-reciprocated love
posted by Letajo at 2:17 PM
3 Comments:
I'd say you have some real talent man. I truly enjoy your take on things...very unusual but at the same time, very midwestern.
Nothing quite like a Leta Jo it seems except Leta Jo.
Thanks, Lilac, glad you stopped by to visit the attic here. Hmmm...I'd say there if lots about me midwesterd, even though I try to fight it.
Best,
Christine
This reminds me, that rejection, in any form (even if it is imagined) is one of the heavier stones life at times (regardless of age) hurls at us. *sigh* This piece strikes me so well. Thank you. ^_^
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