Trouble Is A Friend Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

You are an open page,
A naked, austere literary.
Your elegiac scent has gone astray,
And the broken souls captured it.

You tell the people:
Come into my life.
And they were very eager
To do so.
It was like
Watching people
Fill the stations,
The movie theaters,
The discotheques
And you do not frisk them
For sharp objects
Nor cantankerous weapons.
You just let them in.

You tell your gods:
I am hurt.
And your god
Was very much attentive,
And he poured himself
Unto you: he was very poignant,
And you emboldened him
And even praised his clairvoyant sight.
It was like
Watching the waves efface
The names written on the sand.

Did I tell them
To enter me
Like a vulnerable hostel?
I didn’t.
All your fingers were protruded
Towards me.

You let them in.
Always.
You are what you are.
And I will never be who you are.
I will never be an identical image,
A conjured haze.

You let them in
While I shatter in fear.
You pray to your gods,
While I grimace when they reject me.
Lack of trust?
I don’t think so.
Impatience?
Safe to say.
I am an impatient man,
I am a skeptic fellow,
Only because trouble is a friend,
A lover
That lasted.
That promised me
What you can never be.

Oh, trouble.
The things you do to me.