The Projector

I like you at arm’s length.

You aren’t close

but if I want, I can reach out and touch you.

I see everything I could want

that I don’t.

I see you sometimes at night,

and then I make you disappear.

I see you sometimes in daylight,

and I want you to disappear.

My illusions of you are harder to keep up

and I want to wave my hand and…poof.

You have long hair

and I don’t love you.

You go to the places I go

and I don’t love you.

You have the same ideals

I’ve tried you on

and I don’t love you.

You are a projection

and I don’t love you.

The projector

knows her hopes and dreams

and has the same for people.

Not all people.

I take my friends as they are

I take my family as they are

But that one person…

Yeah, I don’t take them lightly.

I cannot settle for anything.

My entire being is a constant storm of possibility


I cannot cut out parts of myself to fit into someone else.

I see you and you’re everything I think I want

that I don’t.

You don’t inspire me the way I inspire myself.

You don’t make me feel like the world is unending

like I do when I’m alone, writing, drinking coffee.

You love me

but I love myself so much more.

I love myself in a way that requires me to leave you

and never look back.

To subject myself to you would be to betray my

deepest feelings.

Stop crying.

It only reminds me that this is so much harder

for you.


Why do you drag your words out when you speak

and why do you constantly look so sad

as if the world has conspired against you,

you sad, sad boy.

It’s not that you bring me down.

We get along well.

But I don’t enjoy your company.

I don’t wish for more of it.

I am relieved when you awkwardly walk away.

I know you want me to kiss you like I do

in friend’s bathrooms

watching myself in the mirror

and one time under that tree

that beautiful tree

when it was dark and I

could imagine you were something more than

somewhere to put my lips.

You fucking placeholder.

I curse not because you deserve harsh words

but because I want to hear them

because I enjoy strong language when I say

truthful things.

So fuck my boredom that brought you back

because I’m tired of lying to myself.

I’m only sorry that you can’t feel as little

as I do for you.

Now, don’t mistake my words –

I feel everything.

I feel so much for everything that I know

I know I feel nothing for you.

Not the right things, anyway.

The idealist in me is crying out

she is romantic and ambitious and unsatisfied

this is not what she wants

she has tried to love you

but you are a mirage

and I cannot truly touch a mirage

and a mirage can certainly never touch me.

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