I think I’ve had just about enough of you.
I think I’ve looked into those blue eyes,
and died at the sight of your sweet smile,
and written you love poems,
and pretended to be just your friend,
yeah I think I’ve spent one too many
lonely days around you.
and oh,
imagined the horror on your face when you learn the truth,
yeah, I think I’ve played that scene over in my imagination
one too many times.
Boy, I think I’ve had just about enough of you.
You, stay in my chest like an open
wound, but the knife is missing, the knife
doesn’t exist because the wound is a mirage
it isn’t really there, but somehow,
it’s still equally as debilitating.
I think I’ve had just about
enough of your soft skin, the way you
fit so well into those tee-shirts.
But how am I supposed
to stand next to you, when every muscle
every bone, every tendon pulls me closer to you
it’s so hard not to
just wrap my arms around you. All this,
but you
might be surprised if I
told you that every nerve in
me asks, how can you love… him?
No, I think I’ve had just about enough
of you. I’m sick, you see, of wondering
the truth, wondering your answer to a
question I never seem to be able to ask.
Boy, I’ve had just about enough of you.
Imagining your face as I break the
news, like I don’t wanna be anywhere near you
fag, like, get outta my face, like, why the hell
couldn’t I have told you 7 years ago.
I think I’ve had just about enough, but
this poem wont quit, so,
I try,
to end it like my eyelids,
with a forceful determination
and I wonder how heavy they will be when
I rise the next morning, I remain
weighed down by this force of pain that has emerged
anthropomorphized from the depths of my
mind, my body, my soul.
Yes, I’ve had just about enough of being a leaf
lost, tossing in the wind to my
heart’s incomprehensible, but easily repressible
ache.
Yeah, I think I’ve had more than enough
of you.
I wrote this abruptly, as I had volunteered to write a poem and perform it at an impromptu LGBT Poetry Slam at MCTC. It is an obvious evolution of a poem I had already written that combined pieces from other poems I was working on at the time. I consider this and several other poems as part of my “fatuous period.”
