the american dream
time and time again,
i lay in bed,
under all the sheets,
and i find relatability.
i see you and i in the art...
when two lovers
are torn apart,
ripped from each other's grip,
yanked at the ankle,
then seemingly dragged away...
having to part and
wishing one another
a sweet and dear farewell,
fighting to hold back tears...
absolutely faced with removal;
when one is picked by
the very hand of God
to be journeying elsewhere...
and the hollowness of knowing
something that was once there
is no longer...
i understand fully.
because in some way,
some slight, miniscule way,
that is us.
every six months
we exist: happy and whole.
then we are pried apart.
separated, severed, uncoupled!
unlike the books and movies,
our situation is of its own.
and i mean that.
as mundane and "normal"
as this sometimes is,
nothing about this is:
quote unquote...normal.
i have fallen
deeply in love
with a man
who is not my own.
across country lines and
through the countless cities
dividing what i know
from what you know,
i have fallen for a man
whom i see
every six months.
because that is
how it has to be.
now i know:
some individuals have it worse.
but i argue: this is my worse.
our worse.
