They. Them. You.
They say, whoever they are, that you cannot know the girl
until you see her when she does not know you are there.
You will never know who she is. So I gave it a try, tonight.
Halloween night. Halloween party, out with all your friends.
And there I was too, ordering a drink, my back to the bar.
Focused on your table -- everyone there was riveted to you.
Whatever story you were telling, I would have liked to know.
I sipped, I watched, and had brains enough to wait. To wait.
When you were done, I made my way over, as if by accident.
Instead of being shocked, embarrassed or angry, you turned.
That smile to forever haunt every recess of my unworthy life.
Making way for me you asked me to sit down, but I begged off.
And just as I was making my way out, I heard your friend say
above the din, "Is that him? Girl, you weren't telling half of it."
There is a manner of shame that has to be confessed, to end.
This is why, hours later when you have returned home to me
I am leaving on the table this rhyme-less poem for you to see.
I want you to know the exact type of idiot you are involved with.
I want you to know that the princess costume you were wearing
tonight - as you take it off now - is not telling the half of it.
© Ciprianowords, Inc. 2016
