Before Hand Poem by Cynnd Rose

I feel sour
From my throat to the arrogance that hustles me into blissful
ignorance
I cant stand the bitter taste you emanate
I can feel the sting

I think small-mindedly of nothing else
just your existence
Or the way of your blink
The way I entreat resistance
Or your wide shoulders fitting inside a jacket
The way you don’t call
The way you’re kind of like me,
but separate

there’s a gun in your heart
And you may not want it to go off at the start
its there, steadily pointed at my head
And its ready to shoot at any given threat
Lurking in the darkest parts of you
Aimed at the fatal parts of me

Love
Is all I can hope for
Till the end of the most important
to the utterly irrelevant of days
Love
Is all I mope for

I’m thick-skinned but brittle in some cells
I cant escape myself
or the impulsive destruction I instill
But if we demand love like turtles
Bathe in many deep conversations under suns or moons
Without the fear of losing time
Or feeling criticized
I think we could make it

If we tried