Contact

“Do you want contact or not?”
Therapy is supposed to feel better.
The truth is, it doesn’t.
It’s a rabbit hole,
Feeling like falling
And never hitting the ground.
The landing is not supposed to be soft.

“Contact or no contact”
Why do I have to pick?
The truth is, I don’t.
And I rarely ever will.
I don’t like making decisions.
It’s people like me who
invented to text message
Writers, who’d rather not.

“Do you want contact or not?”
For months I couldn’t answer.
The truth is, I won’t.
For months after.
Nothing is that simple.
Contact is not an isolated incident
It is everything before
And everything after.
I’ve never understood time.

“Contact or no contact”
It isn’t that easy.
The truth is, it isn’t up to me.
I am only half.

Sometimes contact is all I needed, but my contact list was exhausted.
Sometimes I needed touch, and that is not the same fucking thing.

I’m not another planet.
I’m not a fucking close encounter.
Contact me if that’s what you want.
I’m tired,
sitting in this cage
While you stare. I am no exhibition.
Contact or no contact, it’s not about what I want. It never is for me. The truth is, it’s about what you need.

“Do you want contact or not?”
I’m not going to answer that
Except to say that I am
Available. Real and imaginative,
Certainly not imaginary
To contact is to be real
To want is to be lacking.
How do I know if I want contact or not?

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