working girl

sometimes
you have to work at the things you love
like i had to work
at loving you.
i don't anymore
work at it, that is.
but
once in awhile
that dense feeling
weighs itself on my chest.
and quite frankly
i'm not sure
what i have to do
to make it go away.
i've already felt the anger
i've already felt the hurt.
and you're already a stranger.
excuse me, sir,
but you're stepping on my chest.

thanks but you are not him

you call yourself
mister big
and that just seems unfair

'cause i've seen the end
i've seen it all--
the whole torrid affair.

and now it's like
a waiting room
only i don't give a care

about all the things
that're inbetween
all the extra layers.

i've pockets full
of expectation
but nothing's really there.

two realities
just collided,
completely unaware

and left me
naked, with this love
that you could never dare.