Blind Spots

I'm looking up,
I'm looking down...
I can't see behind me though --
Must be a blind spot.

If I could see behind me
I could probably stop
All the things like
Tears that don't really manifest,
Days that don't really go anywhere,
Feelings that don't actually mean anything.

Driving in the car
Is as close to the end as
I want to get.
I could crash in one wrong second.

Crash because I'm blind.

There are people in their cars
Tiptoeing brashly around me without
A thought of who I am or
Where I need to go.

Walking is safer,
Slower, but safer.
And even in a tide of people
Going all different directions,
Bumping legs and shoulders,
There is no accident worse than a
Bruise.

Bruising hurts though, so maybe I ought
To consider how I might see behind my back...

I want to look at that boy bad.
So bad that when he plays the drums

(Incidentally beating out the rhythm my heart makes)

I can't help but let all those times he told
Me

(With his mouth, with his eyes, with his back)

That he only liked people with skin like a sunset
Show up on my face.

The hurt is there
In the vulnerable
Protrusion of my lips.

It's the only thing I have...

If I were smart I would go for what I can
See straight ahead of me,
Out the windshield of my
Car, which has never seemed that safe.
There is a real blond head like a sunrise
And a face that makes me feel like
Chuckling very quiet,
Not loud enough for anyone to hear.

There isn't much noise in a dream...

I'm not happy, I'm not sad,
I'm an amoeba, caught in the sand
Of my own contempt for my
Passive state.

Where is the vibrance,
The brilliance,
The hate?

Peripheral vision makes
A boy
Look like a god.

Love isn't what you think it is,
It's just the blind spots,
The weak points
We have.