Almost Poetic

Preface

Read me like a metaphor, on the days when I feel like a contradiction. Read me like your favorite poem, even though I’m missing all the punch lines. Say my name with the beating of your heart, even when i don’t rhyme. I have no rhythm, and I can only dance with two left feet. Read me like a lyric, that cannot find the perfect beat. I miss you, and you can read that however you like.

Like your favorite bible verse on a Sunday, read me like I know just what to say. Like the greatest miracle performed, read me like the dead brought to life. Read me like a promise, turn each page like a vow. Read me upside down at times, because somehow I always put my foot in my mouth. I mumble and stutter and get my words all mixed up, read me like a symphony. I’m thinking of you, read that first before I get to the point.

Maybe I’ll never know the right thing to say, read me like a road sign. And on days when I don’t know the right thing to do, read me like an instruction manual. I’m forever trying to find my way to you, so read me like a map. Know all my coordinates, all the places I lost myself in you. And when you can’t seem to find me, read me like your heart.

Maybe I’ll never know the right thing to be, read me like my mirror. Look at me like you see how I see myself, and read me like a second chance. Read me like an oxygen mask, read me like a life jacket. Read me like every breath I took, wishing it was my last. Read me like a rescue team, and ignore the “do not resuscitate” sign tattooed on my heart. Maybe I need a savior, read me like a second chance.

Read me like you know I’d never ask you to save me, but you’d do it anyway. Like you know I love breathing, but you’ll still take my breath away. Read me like you know all the ways I write I miss you. Like you know what it means to stay, when I push you away. Read me like you know I’m confidential, and you know what it means to be a secret admirer. Like I’m a top secret, and I write from the bottom of my heart.

Read me like you know I’m not an open book. That I’m all fiction, based on a true story. Read me like a best seller, that is yet to be published. And on the days when I don’t feel like being written, read me like my muse. Read me like you’re the conjunction to all my unfinished sentences, the full stop to my low moments, and a comma to the moments when I’m just a breath and a thought away from the grave. Read me like a pause, but never like the last chapter. Read me like I’m one of a kind. And on the days when I feel so alone, read me like a sequel. Read me like I have no end.

Maybe I was never meant to be written, but you were always meant to read me. I was always just a thought, but you were always skilled in sentence construction. I am constantly feeling out of place, you were always meant to be a preposition. Read me like I belong somewhere, even if it’s just in your heart. Maybe some chapters of me are not meant to be open, but read them anyway. Maybe all this poem says is “I love you”, but I couldn’t let you read me like a line, when I’m the whole book.

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