Writer speaks to (anyone)

If you kiss me, I will lose it.
- Now why is that?
Because this is unacceptable. You can't just come here, make me think you're wonderful, then run off with someone else!
- Who says I'm running off with anyone?
You! you did! It's in your eyes, your jaw. Your skin radiates "I'm going to leave you for someone half your age when you're old and enfeebled."
- How does one project that, exactly?
Don't question it.
- Well, that's helpful. What if I wanted to turn that off?
You can't, it's subconscious. It's who you are. You are a narcissist.
- Are you in love with me as much as I'm in love with me?
Shut up.
- No but seriously... If I'm so obsessed with myself, why are you here?
Are you questioning my ability to tolerate your rampant self-absorption?
- Yes.
I know you are terrible for me. I am doing this to myself with full knowledge of the inevitable.
- You should probably know that telling someone about all the terrible things they have not yet done is not the recommended way to begin a relationship.
Oh, it's already over.
- Making comments like that is also not on the list of "things one says to inspire confidence".
Must I inspire you?
- It's part of the gig, yes.
It is a tiresome one.
- You say that as if we've been married 20 years and I have "stolen your best years".
I've already written this story. I'm just waiting for the page to turn.


(This is a snippet of the bits and pieces I have floating around.)

Confident, Oh Confidant

Ode to muse and the idea of you:

You are a figment of my imagination.
Sorry that had to come out, but someone
really had to tell you before things got weird.
You're not real.
I conjured you from ideas of how people should act
and speak
and appear
before my very eyes and under my eyelids
I stole you.
You're a ripoff of all the warmth and energy
a human can exhibit.
(but at least I get to keep you.)
The dialogue we have is but
perversions of memories of those departed
and departing
(mostly by train, but some bus too.)
often hurried, though there were enough who
took the time to say good bye.
You're potential.
The realization of bad dreams and day dreams,
you walk across my synapses and then crash land
onto the stage before me.
I, your director, edit your speech and demeanor in real time.
There are several takes,
you almost never get it right
but I appreciate your flexibility, obedience
(as if you had the choice.)

You do manage to get me in trouble sometimes --
leading me down rabbit holes I
can't escape without tracking dirt on my soles.
No one really appreciates the airing of dirty laundry,
even if that's what it takes to become clean.
But it's never really that easy, is it?
I rehearse with you, tweaking and shifting,
creating nuance until you are completely
and utterly unrecognizable.
(and mine.)