Every Moment, Scored Perfectly by the Symphony in My Head

I stand with a slouch just below my neck
because it's what's most
comfortable.
I stand with my feet pointed at an outward angle
because it's how my body knew they belonged
innately.
I didn't choose these things.

I let people tell me stories when a short conversation runs
long.
Though I'm not always interested,
there's always a part of me that thinks
their story will be useful
someday.
I didn't choose these things.

Some may call it confidence, bravery,
or overconfidence,
I call it an instinctual straightening of my spine,
One that goes without
a conscious decision.

Straighten it right and pick out some
vertebrae;
I don't need that kind of control.

But the choices I make regarding what I need
or don't need
go undocumented yet are
revisited
and edited,
changed
and rearranged,
to suit the mood I'm in.

Whether an old man's story makes me happy or sad
changes with the times and with every decision
that comes with whether I want to dip
into nostalgia
or if I'm
really
into eating spinach.
                But I want to need you.
                No. I need to want you.
                Wait.
             These things are both truth and are subject to wavering
                       but have proven pretty stable over the past few months,
                              years,
                                        weeks.

Having been exposed to
situational comedies and
to the romantic ideals of
both the North American
canon and its piss bucket,
I've come across many
loving glances and
knowing looks
                            and they are always
                                                  returned.

THERE IS NO SUCH THING
AS UNREQUITED LOVE
AS LONG AS PERSISTENCE
IS INVOLVED.

Yet,
when I sleep at the wheel
and my tense grip loosens on the reigns,
my weakness: my smile,
My loving glance
sees the light of the day
                           through the cracks of my lips

       but
            it
              is
                not
             returned.

And with every time that I ask,
"Why doesn't she see me?"
the slouch in my spine curves further
and claims another vertebra
and the cracks in my lips deepen
in a desperation
for my light to be heard.

but I
        cover my mouth.

Because I'm scared.
There I said it.
I'm scared.