ONE

as i am one, just one wanting more,

i am one with no more–

no more no more going home,

still can't afford my life

but i must make one for myrself.

say anything i want but do i want it?

i still want that feeling sometimes but not with you.

it's not you i am anymore.

hello or goodbye, aloha or fuck off; it’s all the same

i am one little bit of everything in a singularity-

just a smudge and your unmet expectations,

and i am to blame for having the need to be the one of many men,

making love where he goes because that is what he loves to do.

keep telling a story together, one from your point of view.

keep telling a story together, two different points of views.

keep telling each other's stories from our own points of view.

attracting, opposed, overlapping at the same time

until i am rewired, repurposed, and not found instead of lost.

i can never have too much of that literal contradiction

like how terrible things can wear a grandmother’s pajamas.

it still feels right-ish, but like you're trapped behind your own layer of shell,

hungry like the wolf, and empty on the inside.

it might even consume you if you don't see it coming.

and the practicality of the joke is that nobody ever does.

so, i am one.

i am a fraction;

still whole;

not your whore;

at your disposal;

told i will go far from here if i just let it happen;

and at fault for not being in control.

for anyone, i am one. i am one. i am one. and i am one more. once more one of all for nothing.