Cross lines, pass time, make up your mind, fill your space, picture my face - A poem

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All this free time isn’t good for me

 I will pour all my thoughts and doubts into a cauldron being heated by flames of insecurity 


I’ll make it all up in my head and cross the line

The white will mix with black and become grey 

and I’ll forget how to distinguish between 

What my head made and what he actually did say 


I’ll study the minutest of details and still draw conclusions based on my first impression 

Assume and make an ass out of both you and me

I could write a book on the never ending spiral in my head

that I have spent hours trying to manipulate and bend 


It’ll translate into a monstrous fire licking my chest 

Daring to be vulnerable in front of you 

It’ll make me sick to my stomach and I’ll retch 

You’ll be my muse that I will exaggerate and sketch

Every crease, every stretch 


Until then I will fill these hours with poetry, physics and chemistry 

Music that decorates my time 

Art that decorates my space 

All of it while picturing your face 

That will be proud of me 

For leaving it behind and beginning to chase 

The version of me I picture in my future


because she awaits.

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