I am fluent in the language of misinterpretation

3 09 2010

Something I wrote today, just a few minutes ago.  It’s the first draft so it needs work.

To the person who inspired this: in the unlikely case you read this and know it’s about you, can you answer the question at the end please?  Thanks.

I am fluent in the language of misinterpretation

I am a neglected puppy,
skeleton-thin, starving for words,
and when they drop at my feet, I greedily feast
my unformed mind believing
they must be more than sweet careless rewards,
they must be more than stale pity.

I attach lead weights to a simple “hi”,
hoping they reveal more than cheap plastic toys beneath the chocolate shell
Though this is a formula I’m an expert with,
it still confuses me;
my heart flinches at pin pricks of silence
yet continues to beat.

The monster called memory
reminds me of your quick shuffling steps,
the crinkles in your eyes when you smile are the delicate folds of an origami flower I planned to give you.
your curt laughs are bottles of expensive champagne I’ve saved to buy
The way you spoke of Zac Efron like a crush,
and now I speak of you in the same way.

I am fluent in the language of misinterpretation.
What is the translation for silence?


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