Real or pretend.

He pretends he knows me
He does know my name
He carries his pride
Like it’s part of a game

He swipes and I side-step
I call it a dance
Love does not know him
to take up romance.

No agreement, he declines
No friendship, these words
are useless black lines
on passionless white page.

He pretends. Not pretentious-
He’s honest and real
Although how can we tell
If his words we can’t feel?

I dance, and I sing
play guitar and I swim
Create art and tap out these cold meaningless characters on my keyboard
Which appear on your screen, as nothing… nothing… nothing of me.

At least that is what you pretend.
OKAY
I shout into the wind- futile expression
just a buzz of electric light which dims and flickers out
as you close the lid, or flick the switch
to put me to sleep at your whim.

NO. I don’t want an online relationship.
No no not ever.
I want a real man.
One I can feel.

The globe opens up, connected with fine wires
that deliver cold characters
through a sea of bold liars.
How do I meet with a man from this world?
How do I know if he would care for a girl?

Is there not something of him in his words?
Is my thinking really so absurd?

Ok.
I say quietly, in chagrin
and regret
that I still haven’t found
the right way to connect.

If I close my heart like a laptop lid
I could shutdown the pain
that it takes to find out
this real man’s name.

Thing is, I am not a cold character,
cast in white and black.
My name in typeface, bold;
a flimsy token of all I represent.

To truly know each other’s name…
This is no kind of silly game
with words.
Ok. I say.
Because I want to take the time it takes
To know you
on your terms.
Not my own.

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