He asks me again how everything's been,
and I want to be honest--to tell the truth.
It finds its way to the tip of my tongue,
but at precisely this moment (always)
some part of me, some fear
that resides in the dark, deep, and quiet
comes screaming up to just below my surface,
and I hesitate just a second too long...
"Everything's fine," I say.
And, he buys it,
happy to know that his little boy,
mostly a man now,
"seems fine."
And, I carry on, quietly arrayed,
the picture of calm and contentment,
but, really, I am perfectly disappointed in myself
because the same old cravings--
to be heard and to be seen--
go unsatisfied,
and I think,
"It's just better this way..."
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