My Own You

I
Stand around and watch you
Standing
Somewhere only eyes can reach
And
You bother to look back for noises
But
Not for my stare.
That
Seems fair; I’m not important
To you;
I just watch you, alone,
Counting
The nights, but always starting over
When
I forget/–did I count one for the last?

The shoulders are but barriers
To your smile, your scowl, your
Changing of your skin to mimic
Those you’ve seen before feeling
The way you do– or so they say.
I place a face on you, your neck
Balancing so gracefully the entire
Beauty of this small, 4-walled world.
Don’t worry, I don’t want you–
You’re taken, I can tell. The ring,
The stolen glances quickly given to the floor–
I see you with their arm around you;
You call me, “creep,” and look away
As though my bolts ‘ve shown through,
Or my snout came out. ‘Is the way
Of things we don’t care for– humility
Is lost and finds its way to the other side
Of the room, where I am, and waits
For my eventual realization that
To look is to touch with eyes, and
Touching is a very personal matter
Best left to lovers, not observers.
I wish you knew I don’t care about you.
You mean to me as a magazine cover
To a teenager saving up for their first car.
You are but an image, a way to know
I can find my own you, no matter
Who you are.

 

I
Live with myself and try to
Live
In as much as doing of a word can be
Done,
But I only live when my mind can’t continue
Trying
To find my own you.