The Basketball Game
**I wrote this one a while ago...maybe sometime last year. I switched it up a bit. It's a fitting post in a time of March Madness. Can you guess the inspiration? Don't try...because you'd be wrong LOL. There was supposed to be a part II to this but...eh, it hasn't been written yet"
One day…maybe…later on in the future…he’ll ask me ‘how come you don’t write love poems anymore’…and I’ll remind him of this day…today…he thinks I’m too in to my emotions…and he’s right…he’s damn right…I’ll remind him of this day…our basketball game…one on one...he thought I was playing him for his one-of-kind, signed, exclusive jersey…like no other...but I was fighting for so much more than that…I was fighting for his attention…for his time…fighting to be a top priority…fighting for more of him…fighting...like trying to shake a song that’s stuck in your head…Conya Doss replays in my mind ”Stay with me a little while longer don’t go”…curse these songs that verbalize my thoughts and echo my heartbeat…the basketball game…I tried…”I just want to be with you”…put all my effort into it…wish he could read between the lines..wish he could read between all my different defensive positions…and hear and see and feel what it was I was saying…”We make heaven”…can you feel me…not on that skin deep level but on a souls-knit level…deep…like 1,000 fathoms below sea level…floored…and he walked out…said it was stupid to play me when I wasn't really any competition...and he left…and he left me…and I knew I was done…I never really fought for him until now…and I put my all into it…and I lost…and he left….and that was the end…you're under your feelings he’ll tell me….and he’s right…but feelings can be used to make up your mind…and I’m sure…as sure as the scar on my knee…from being flagrantly fouled…still I clung to him…and he left…and all I have to show for it is this scar…but I feel pain…so that means I’m alive…pain…if you can feel then you’re alive…give me pain…so I dig and open old wounds…the kind that seep poison into your mind…and I swing the doors open to the infection waiting to be released into my system…want the hard drive to crash…and all the memory to be erased…so let’s overload it…give it the virus…windows…to the soul…stuck on words that cause the wires to trip up…talk that fly stuff…use words like procreate…dig up recycled memories…and reuse them…and even if it hurts don't reduce them...I’m angry…I’m hurt…standing alone...with this ball...and I'm cold...I’m not sold…flat like this ball in my hands...feeling tossed aside like the shirt and tie I gave him for his birthday…strewn in some corner…I don’t want to hear sweet nothings…show me something…or am I reliving the same story…same hook…different verses…different bait…write my feelings out…for me its the equivalent of writing them away…this is my confession…eat up…throw it up…then push it off you…like an opponent at wrestling matches…light it…wish everything wasn’t so freakin' metaphoric…take it for what it is
