Don't Hold Me

To prove a point

Is something he told me

he did before we

started dating last year

two or so months ago,

though he only knew

that we were dating

until after after we broke up.

He went to see a friend,

he stayed home,

showed up late,

he cuddled and danced

romantically

with many:

all of it to gather evidence

of his mysterious hypothesis

which for me

was worth at most a penny.

He'd shake from the thought of

not being by my side,

but only if I was the one

taking the first step of the race.

Should he be the one to

start a sprint

his eyes would be full,

watery,

wet from tears of bliss.

He'd dance,

professionally,

around the subject:

his limbs, his hips,

barely grazing mine.

While mesmerizing to see

I couldn't help but notice

the performance

I was tied up to see

in its full plastic glory.

The point itself does not interest me

because its center is not me.

What I cared about most

were his actions,

so alien but barely comforting

to my feet.

If life is all about proving points

I don't want it.

For we want to prove to ourselves

but what we really do is

seek affirmation from

high councils

of twinks, twunks, hunks and fairies.

Proving a point is stopping to live

for ourselves.

Proving a point is only for the

proverbial king.

Proving a point is but an artifact

of colonization,

to seek for permission

to touch the marigolds,

to fill our hearts with sweet oxygen,

of good company,

and memories that satisfy

our bellies.

Now I wonder,

will I be used to prove a point in the future?

Turn myself outward and become an object?

I dont wanna be anyone's

manic pixie dream

so forewarned,

so foretold.

I am me

I deserve to exist

because I'm me.

What a life would it be

to basque in each other

bounce off 

Can I hold you in my arms

one more night

I don't need no proof

but it feels so good

to remember

who is with me

in the twilight bloom.