The Interview

I couldn't let her know
About how I really felt.
About why I shit
On every opportunity
That she felt was so
Beautiful and piqued,
Ready to be plucked by
An enthusiastic whippet,
Just like her young champion

I couldn't tell her I didn't give a shit for any of it.
It was all old.
Stale.
Rude.
Molested by her enthusiasm.
I was too old.
I wanted more.

But I couldn't tell her because
I was trapped.
No escape door in my head.
My perceptions had let me down
And I couldn't scream out "fuck you"
From under my self-made ocean.

I know she wanted me to.
Looking inside my eyes
I think she knew there was more to come out.
But I didn't help her.
I gave her stories of hope,
Confidence,
Development,
Vision.

Now, it will be a matter of time.
But everything is a matter of time.