Two hearts
I’m not really here right now.
I can only be here when no-one’s around,
and I know no-one can see me.
Even when i speak to you,
I’m sort of not really here.
When I’m in my bed-sheet tent;
then I’m absolutely here
for all of you to see.
Except, of course,
no-one can see me,
because I’m in my safe tent.
When I speak to you,
sometimes my real self talks,
when I know you really want to listen.
I can’t force him,
but sometimes he just starts talking;
and I write it down right then,
so I don’t forget
what my real self says.
It’s really hard sometimes
when I don’t know who’s speaking
or who’s writing.
Sometimes I pretend my real self is speaking,
because I want to sound like I’m really here.
Not for you.
But so I can feel less scared.
Not so lonely.
Not so confused.
It’s okay if I don’t know you,
because when I’m real,
and I’m here,
and I’m speaking,
then nothing else matters.
I don’t have to figure out mixed signals
between my head and belly;
and my two hearts.
You know, the blood pumping one,
and the Valentine’s Day romance heart.
I wonder which is more important?
I think both are absolutely necessary.
I’m not sure which belongs to my real self.
I think it’s the Valentine’s Day heart;
and my pretend self has to have
a heart that pumps the blood
so it can seem like it’s real and alive.
Sometimes when I’m safe in my bed-sheet tent,
my Valentine’s Day heart tells me
that it’s you who is my truest love;
and I can tell you anything at all
as long as it’s not pretend.
(2013)
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