What The Mockingbird Knew

For me it’s always been the same,
Instant — in a smile or a glance 
that I feel it crash over me 
like waves of panic 
and adulation 
but mostly fear 
and even more so nerves.
I am a wreck. 
But I like this — the beginning,
of possibilities — endless. 
Although I know,
because my brain informs me 
gently as possible, 
that I am my own worst enemy — 
Imperfect perfectionist
with a lust for want, 
there be no treasure here.
My heart plays interference though, 
and cloudy judgment fills 
the space in between,
effectively rendering 
me into jelly
every single time. 
Every. Damn. Time.

I wait.

I’m not too great at this part either.
I’m not sure I’m great at anything really
but especially this.
And I’m reading, 
yes, I’m reading
into every little moment
no matter how blurred the lines.
Because I want this, 
I think,
more than anything really. 
But time passes 
and I’m never any closer to the ideal.
Time passes
and desire becomes a dull ache.
Time passes
and I think about what could have been “if”.
Time passes 
and I question what it is I even want. 
Nothing — Everything — You,
It doesn’t really matter,
after all
I’m just mocking my past selves
with ever increasing 
pathetic pantomime
hoping that one sticks.
Molding myself 
out of clay,
I know more than anyone.
I am a wreck.