Instead of writing about you,
I write about everything else.
I circle my feelings for you like
they’re a chalk outline of a body
at a crime scene, and I gaze at
you like somewhere in your face
I’ll find the answer to the puzzle
I’m feeling, but I never do.
So instead of writing another
poem about not being able to
understand what I want, I write
about everything else I
possibly can- I’m just
not ready to analyse this
crime scene. I’m just not
prepared to follow this chalk
trail to the person I know it’ll
lead back to: you. you. you.