Galapagos

once more,
Billy is singing me to sleep.
and desperately
I try to be lost in the fabric
that he has woven
for me to hear.

Tonight
This is what I choose to believe;
that I am not myself
but merely a memory
made to liberate
trapped notes
in his untouched past
and his forgotten future.

I am the lady then,
years back.

the present apple
that he breathes

the pale ghost
of christmas future -

this is all me
when I chose
not to be myself,
but his summoned muse.

And I hear his songs

and in his pain I hear my pain
only tonight,
I choose it to only be his
and without question, he agrees.

and in gentle calmness
of fake comfort
and illegible escapes-
daydreams
real dreams
and all in between,

the echoes of his voice carry me -
and for that moment, I am free.

and I sleep

In celebration of my silent victory.

...

See me

Not through the mirror

But through my eyes

So that you may learn

Not the lies

Nor the estimation

Nor the impression

You have formed

From the freedom you took

To measure me...

Then shall you only

Truly understand

I am right when I say

You have not seen me

Not at all.