How I Am

You ask me how I
You ask me how my life
I never tell you.
I never really
tell you,
because I always spill.
I always tell
I always rip open
and let it loose
and I guess I finally realized
no one wanted
to hear it.
No one was really
No one who asks
‘how are you?’
really cares about the answer;
it’s just polite noise.
I never tell you how I
because I don’t want to
open myself
up to polite noise,
because I’m hoping for
something real.
I don’t tell you how I am,
because I’m waiting to see
if you really want to know.
Will you ever notice
that I’m always
That I’m never
While it’s true that
I am not alone,
while it’s true that
everyone can feel
and has felt
what I feel,
it doesn’t matter —
I won’t tell you how I
because I don’t know
how to trust you
to tell the truth,
because I don’t know
how to love myself
if you don’t care
that I did.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.