He’s a child
Playing man
Laughing
At the drop of a hat
He likes to fence with jests
Just for the tests
To prove that he can
But when the weight
Comes calling with the price
Of its due presented
The bill at the end
Of the flight
What it’s really like
My Man of La Mancha
Draws up surprised
This is not something I can pay
This pressure is madness
Like ideas made real
Dreaming infinite sadness
Crushing the just ideals
Against the targeted arrows
Of commitments that must
Be met before
Love’s perfect storm
Builds up
His delicate male ego
Is a deep well
He’s barely tapped
Not used to this
Kind of hardcore
He admires her
From a distance
Scrubbing dirt
Up to the elbows
But he can’t get in closer
Anymore
Past the barrier
Of her innermost
Scorn with hell’s fury
Hidden beneath
The sideways cocked
Glance staring down
Her nude suspicion

And who knows
What he wants
To hear him talk
Of all my projections
I might be
More than a figment
Of his imagination
He can shut off
With a flip of a switch
You’d think I’m the love
He never thought
Could be there yet
my Don Quixote’s
Interest gained is quickly lost
He couldn’t even start
The quest he thought
And not for lack of want
We put up a sign
Love for sale
Like a fiction put to trial
And it’s like a fantasy
To promise things that can’t be
Nothing too serious
No harm meant
He called her bonita
Asked her to stay
Then felt trapped
Under the weight
Of life’s tidal waves
And pulled away
Dashing after 40 hulking giants
He sees and intends to do battle with
And slay
The games he plays
Just fun chistes in the moment
But the moments add up
And time has not been forgiving
And the price is evident
¡Ya! Fájate tus huevos!
And grow up
We see each other’s
Lado mas debil
While it stings it’s sweet
There are certain ways
I just don’t play
Time to smile away
The pain
As his Dulcinea
Neither pretty nor virtuous
In a modern corporate brothel
Who gave him a quick fix
Showed him something different
As long as she fought him
He chased her hard
Wanted wanted
Because it made him feel
The instinct
For a minute
At least a small victory
For the time being
To boost the wounded beast
Within
To soothe the lonely need
Before giving her up to the stream
To dream the impossible dream

I should have seen
What the wise women
Know ultimately
About how men don’t stay
They run off to Mexico
And never come back
But I missed Princess Training
And was in the field that day
Working my fingers to the bone
When they sent the memo

He taught me
I’m not so important
In any form
Except for the one
Only I can own
The world and he
Will go on fine
Without me
My insignificance completes
Full circle
There is truly nothing tying
Down my loose flag
Blowing off the mast
Of the raft
Nothing holding me back
I can let out a cry of freedom
When the darkness asks me
To bare my teeth
To feel the grit
To be raw and open
Question everything
Like Why not just stop it
The answer is a silent
Buzzing in the electric
Lines humming
Why
Does it matter
Echoes bouncing
My internal agony
It’s just bonito
All my feelings
Are expressions
He can’t feel
Just seen and consumed
Like a spectator
Getting a taste
Vicariously
Why should he
Understand anyway
He’s just a kitten
With tiger claws
Who plays a bit too much
Who doesn’t know
The full strength
Of his blows
Charging full force
His lance of beliefs
In his hand raised
Indignantly
That the world should
Have more space
For his needs
Impotence pervades
The mental state
And washes away all the colors
And turns everything gray
And then it’s clearly I
Who can’t see
Or understand him anyway
And he’s misunderstood
Tragically
And then there is nothing
More to say

When something isn’t
Wanted to be seen
Clearly someone was
Not that interested
In really knowing
The rest manifests
Self-evidently

The sizzling sparks pop
Above me in the wires
It fills the space
a vacuum of alone again
Truly and relatively
My natural state
Where my heart is empty
Bleeding and refilling
Pumping again and again
Like an ancient rite
Done with chanting
Bells and incense
But it feels like a slow gutting
Because it just won’t
Stop

This suffering thing
Is some overrated shit
Cleaning and clearing
The countless mistakes
I’ve made time and again
Disperse my pain into the garden
Let it pass and decompose
My own brand of fertilizer
Feeds my innermost flower
Stay tuned for the bloom
So I take my cue
After the fire that lights him
And charge with the full force
After my own giants
Hulking wind mills
But I don’t fight
Like him
I just keep busy
And bide my time
When I can’t write
I let myself cry
When I can’t talk
With my head
I walk with my feet

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