A Boring Fellow (poem)

You tell me

I am boring.

I agree.

How could I not?

All that sets my life on fire,

Is that which I hide.

When my mind races with ideas,

Some seeming more vivid and alive than myself,

My lips grow silent in suppression.

How could I articulate them,

When I am overcome by fiction,

Which inspires careful quiet?

Want to hear a story?

I have one here for you.

But my tongue is tied,

So listen to my muffled screams.

Hear your name in them,

And grow fearful of what I have done.

Hear the tales I've spun about us.

Hear this story of mine,

The illustration of my inability to love.

Hear how I lose all,

To the ideal made in childhood.

Stories I've already begun telling.

You tell me

I am boring.

Perhaps it is best,

To never speak.

-Zero