All this time I wanted to connect, but
There was no connection, except
What was already inside: silent.
I worked so hard to bolt myself on,
But the threads kept on popping
And I never seemed to notice.
Perhaps there should be a reckoning, for good intentions,
For wanting what others appeared to have,
For the gesture of trying to care,
But there was too much real in all that illusion,
Falsity holds so little pull,
Not like the eyes finding all I am
And making me feel, for the moment, loved,
Even as the hollows of my own eyes, shining out,
Have taken what love I'd had from my sight
As if it was something stolen, what I
Failed to give, and could never know,
The thing I desire the most.
