Believing is not seeing.

I hate windy days because I like to wear dresses.
And when that invisible force makes it's way to my ruffles I am marylin monroe above an air vent.
If you subtract the sex appeal.

And there it is, my lace or cotton I used to show off as a poddy trained child covered in scooby doo and reptar and the power puff girls I swear I was meant to be.

And I can only imagine that the chemical X coursing through those big-headed, small-bodied supergirls' veins is an immunity to reality.
A reality that took my childhood and colored it's nightmares.
A reality that told me no, you cannot fly.
No, you cannot shoot lasers with your eyes.
And no, you definitely cannot ever beat mojojojo.

I can't, I don't, I won't, I wish on every shooting star my mind pretends it saw that these images would fade the way a drop of ink disperses in the ocean
the way a drop of chemical X disperses into a blood stream
the way a drop of blood disperses, guilty into your sheets.
Sometimes it's the things we see on t.v. that we dream and want to believe.
Sometimes it's the secrets written on those big girl panties when I didn't know we'd go that far that I don't want to believe.
The mistake haunts my dreams.

I don't have to see the wind to believe it.
I don't have to see the pain to feel it.
I don't have to see the decision to regret it.
And I don't have to see the love to make it.

Even with my eyes gorilla glued shut I have faith that you'd still haunt my dreams.
The reality and the imagination would mix like sugar and salt like the recipe for sexual assault and I know that I didn't stop you. I know that I didn't stop you.

But I dream of the words I should have said, the layers of clothing I should have worn, the exits I should have taken, the millions of little decisions I never should have made without taking of the blindfold that was love.

Love is blind, love is blinded, love is blinding, love blinds and I could not see past your green-blue eyes and your transparent lips whispering, "it'll be okay."

And I believed those eyes.
I believed that face. That chest. Those hands.
Because that was all that I could see.

But I never should have believed you.
Because I never saw you.
You hid behind a facade of charm and honesty and feigned belief in true love, a belief that you had never seen, never felt, never heard, never even tasted.
One that you promised to give to me.
But believing is not seeing.
Because I never saw you.

Who are you?

I know it's not real.
I know you aren't real.
You aren't who I'd like you to be.
You aren't who you'd like to be.
But I don't think you quite understand that I still love the mess that is you.
It's like, I just know that there is a genuine guy in there.
Buried under the
lies,
secrets,
and fear of being truthful.
You are afraid of being true because truth is vulnerable.
You're in control of the lies,
you have no power over the truth.
And when you screw up and I see it, it's easier to lie your way out
Than to admit defeat and that you did something wrong.
Wrong isn't something that you do.

Who are you?

I can't stop asking myself that question.
What is with your out-of-no-where
d.i.s.a.p.p.e.a.r.i.n.g?

I don't think you realize, understand, or comprehend the extent to which
I DON'T CARE.
I don't care that you screw up. Frequently.
And I don't care that you're scared of love. Scared of ME.
Because I want you and, whether you know it or not, I'm good for you.
I won't put up with your shit but I'll forgive you if you ask.
And when everyone else leaves you
when they all get fed up with who you pretend to be,

I will be here.
Probably whether I want to be or not.
Why? Because I love you.
And that is something I know is real.