101 ways to pretend

So this is me writing  for what I hope

I get confused by the wants inside me

Lost with things

Things

intellectually I don't care for

Never cared that much

So badly do I wish 

I am a poor wisher

My head, my life, were straight

My heart, my soul, confessed

Configured to pretend that I know

With a single sideways glance and a short conversation

the world comes crashing

Love once imagined

receives a thrashing

And now the voice,

once emboldened,  twice recoiled.

twice forgotten

Once remembered

the world comes crashing

Let me see the face

the world comes crashing

and her eyes spark. 

The world

and I'm too afraid

comes

to even move

The world

The two things:

Comes

myself,

Crashing

inexpressible you,

post

All the things that go through my head, never said.

processing.

.

..

...

I'm confused about life. 

ideas

cell for solitary confinement in the library

time traveling/fossilized pants

The Relic

" When my grave is broke up again

some second guest to entertain

(For graves have learned that woman-head

To be more than one a bed)

And he that digs it, spies

A bracelet of bright hair about the bone

Will he not let us alone,

And think that there a loving couple lies,

Who thought that this device might be some way

To make their souls, at the last busy day,

Meet at this grave, and make a little stay?

If this fall in a time, or land,

Where mis-devotion doth command,

Then, he that digs us up, will bring

Us, to the Bishop, and the King,

To make us relics; then

Thou shalt be a Mary Magdalen, and I

A something else thereby;

All women shall adore us, and some men;

And since at such time, miracles are sought,

I would have that age by this paper taught

What a miracles we harmless lover wrought.

First, we loved well and faithfully,

Yet knew not what we loved, nor why,

Difference of sex no more we knew,

Than our guardian angels do;

Coming and going, we;

Perchance might kiss, but not between those meals;

Our hands ne'er touched the seals,

Which nature, injured by late law, set free:

These miracles we did; but now alas,

All measure, and all language, I should pass,

Should I tell what a miracle she was." 

-- John Donne