This is Not…

For we who are too nice
worry too much
over think things
know too well what regret feels like
when it hits us in the chest
know the body does not lie
it betrays us
this look in our eyes cannot be mistaken
tells us, this one
chase this one
even knowing this feeling
could not possibly be love

I am not a normal man
and we do not love like this
represent every contradiction
of a definition placed on me as man
want to believe so desperately love is stronger
cannot break so easily
which is probably why it hurts so much when it does
because if this isn't it then what is?
does it exist?
does it mean ours is a lie?

When the heart can no longer endure
giving any more of its blood
and my eyes lose their strength to produce tears
the sinking feeling that I cannot save anyone from themselves
maybe I should stop trying
it is never enough
this...
this is not about you
though I might find my eyes lingering on you
it is not actually you I am looking at
I am looking at my hopes written in the reflection of your irises
this
is not love
this is how I hide

A promise I cannot keep
a commitment to an ideal you can not possibly live up to
sometimes I wish I could be the drunken mistake
the one-night bad decision that lingers in a woman's heart for days
instead, I am the slow creep of an emotion
that makes women want to leave their husbands
the one never considered until its too late
until we both become each other’s "one who got away"
I
never asked for this
only wanted something uncomplicated
knew didn't want to go back to empty apartment
didn't want to wake up alone
again
wanted to kiss you
so badly
which is specifically why I needed you to leave when you did
repeat “I love you” to myself
as if repeating the words will make the feeling real
Because I’m tired of always being the second choice
Even though we both know I’m the better man
the alternative
to what, exactly?

This is how I’ve chosen to deal with this
no more promises
if this embrace is all we get
then lets see if we can squeeze forever out of it
so when we let go there will still be a piece of it
we can carry with us in the left breast pocket of our heartstrings
because I am tired of pretending
and this is not…