So much projecting,
Or that’s what I call it.
Projecting my feelings I lack, or I need to expel om surrogates through relationships,
bonds mending and breaking.
So with love, once given to a foolish boy in the tall school grass,
I rapped my tongue around his Spanish name as if it were a golden ring.
I have felt it in so many forms, rough like gems,
condensed rocks sold at flea markets,
smooth pearls rolling on my wrist, soft cotton clouds.
I have felt love made to fend off everyday pains,
forged together with someone as a shield in the darkness, leaving us in our own small world.
I have felt substitutes, kisses, to feel loved, or the sensation of loving, and only obtaining it once. Not some cheap brand copy.
but it was like fireworks, beautiful, then gone with the wind,
the situation came forth romantically of course, and in the sexual nature.
Let us not forget the truly platonic; love stored for the mother, the father, the surrogate.
I find myself happy with my step father, laughing, smiling, bonding, growing, developing.
Still my father own lives on, loving me from a distance.
I feel this emptiness knowing that none of those moments are shared with him.
Then there are the loveless relations,
finding myself whispering in her ear that we should get lost somewhere… or stay there, I wasn’t too shy of being in public.
All these projectors, all of these screens; I have balanced out my theater I suppose.