i destroy with my poetry

i destroy with my poetry
a something by mj

i destroy with my poetry. i do not know the language. he destroys with bits of random. he does not know my rhythm. i tell myself tales to make the night less long. this isn’t only about me. why doesn’t this story shut off when i close the book? i see what is not seen, i look where the edges blur. this isn’t only about me. i wonder if he knows how deep his touch has reached, how far his penetration goes. i was the one who wanted to share. this isn’t only about me. i’ve collected the bites: his bright, shiny pieces represented by words, just so you know... short-term, marriage, meaning... this isn’t only about me. i want him happy; i want him at peace. i doubt he can find this with me. perhaps that is why he evades and i pine. this isn’t only about me. maybe this is all in my head, something i made up to make the night less long but it is something and it isn’t only about me.