it's not that I have horrible taste <br />in women, exactly <br />or that my fear of an honest <br />relationship is a lit match <br />in my shirt pocket, <br />it's simply this: <br />I don't understand you <br />or her <br />or me <br />or the way things work <br />or are <br />or should be, <br />and I get confused so quickly <br />that my mind jumps in <br />ready to stop the bullets <br />from your loaded mouth, <br />and then of course <br />the trees collapse all around me <br />and the lumberjacks <br />all go home <br />to sit on front porches <br />carving wooden idols <br />out of looted branches <br />for their kids to have <br />while daddy plays in the forest <br />with chainsaws. <br />you see, <br />this is how it happens <br />each and every time. <br />I feel someone new moving in, <br />getting closer, <br />another woman with her nose <br />pressed up to my ear <br />ready to whisper <br />all of her secrets, <br />ready to exchange her scent <br />for my own, <br />ready to relax in my corner <br />between the bookshelf <br />and the fireplace <br />with her head in my lap, <br />her heart in my hand <br />like a fragile piece of life <br />I shouldn't be holding, <br />trusting me <br />more than I trust myself. <br />you see, <br />I am a monumental mess inside <br />and I told you this <br />from the very beginning <br />but you decided <br />to wear your x-ray specs <br />hoping to see right through <br />all the shit, <br />hoping to find the good food <br />hidden at the back of <br />the fridge. <br />well that's fine as wine <br />it's your waste of time, <br />but don't get sore <br />and try to even the score <br />with a cute little slice <br />of poetry.<br /><br />Mick Tomlinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/alone-with-warm-beer-stale-chips-question-marks/
