I am gray...
Everything I do is muted and less interesting than him.
The things I say seem guided by what he wants to hear.
My eyes are thickly glazed with evidence that I'd rather be sleeping
Than making small talk with my ex's new/old boyfriend at a gay club downtown.
I tell myself I'm here for my best friend Andrea,
But I am not here at all.
I am in my head beside my ex, holding her.
In my mind I have no tact.
No restraint of societal mores.
But in reality I am having a one-sided conversation about comics
With someone who clearly doesn't read them.
I just am.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem