It begins on a Tuesday.
You looked at me
and took in my messy bun
and paint splattered boots
and told me that hipsters
were the new bourgeois,
and that people, no matter what,
would never live up to expectations.
And I didn’t know what to say to that,
because you have the temperament
of a terrible storm, but the eyes
of a king lost to legendary tales,
and something about that combination
silenced everything but the buzz
of the espresso machine behind me.
But I wanted you to think
that I was different from the
other people on your bucket list:
‘the drama queen’
I wanted to defy your stereotypes
and show you that people were more
than just boxes to tick off on bingo cards;
that good people don’t always
return their shopping carts,
and sometimes bad people can love.
I spent too much time
trying to make sense of you + I,
and there were glimpses of moments
when you seemed to believe me,
but your silver eyes always gave way
to your cold iron heart, and nothing
that I thought was true,
was ever true again.
I wonder which role I filled.
It ends on a Thursday.