Wish I Coulda Been Your Blank For You

 

Wish I coulda been exactly whatever

You had in mind.  Whatever collection of

Triggers, conscious and sub-.  Judging,

As in morally, an impossibility; merely

A description of you: collection of light-points;

Small constellation of stars, you-shaped,

On perfect field of midnight blue.

Especially since all was our domain,

As it is now; we could choose our narrative.

And sometimes some parts of me wish

I coulda been pure love for you.  Instead,

I’m so difficult.  Difficult enough to make

Me unworthy of love (almost) from certain perspectives

(Sometimes), as in this poem Sam gave me once.

We face each other on our knees

Bawling our eyes out, fingers interlaced, begging the other

For forgiveness for our crazies.

Well, my crazy sin is prohibiting the

Possibility of Hollywood, which is an

American sin if ever there was one.

I, us, you can’t sit still for a photo shoot.

I, me, myself can’t sit still in class,

Can’t do a lot of things.

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