David (a poem)

I was fine on my own,

an untouched Shakespeare in your corner.

You rifled through my pages

with a critical eye and careless fingers.

Tracing a constellation on your chest,

the search for a sign.

If it can’t be written in the stars,

at least wear it on your sleeve

like the inked numerals of your last love.


You live in your body like no one I know,

mark it up like your copy of Anna Karenina.

I live in my head like no one you know,

paying rent to overthinking.


I was fine on my own,

before Dvorak’s violins made you human.

I can’t put you on a pedestal like the other Davids

and admire from afar.

Critical eyes and careless fingers

weren’t made for marble.

Insecurity is my museum guard

and she’s paid in overthinking.

Lissie and I turned this into a song while I drove cross country

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