Why no, you say, I didn't cross your mind,
Not when you chose this poem to perform to thirty people
While I was in the audience.
No, I didn't know you would say something that made me break
Because when she put her hand on my knee while I didn't cry
I didn't know it was about me.
I didn't want to know.
But I didn't know and I wanted it to be and
They say that abuse victims are pushed to the edge seven times on average
Before they leave.
Is that what this is?
Or is my knowledge, my stupid over-abounding knowledge,
Telling me lies and keeping me here?
Not that I know where 'here' is,
Because sometimes it is a meadow of wildflowers
And other times it is a dank dirty dark deep dungeon.
There doesn't seem to be an in-between,
Unless you count the limbo I sometimes put myself in.
That limbo is white and black and an elevated pulse and tears and confusion,
That confusion that is always there when one of us is waiting for an answer
And that answer hasn't come.
And now we're trying to tell each other the truth, just now as I'm writing this and I might look back in ten minutes and things will be different
But right now?
Right now I am in limbo and I am searching for answers and honesty.
You know what I want from this,
You have known from the start.
And yet here we are almost seven months later and
I still don't know.