Wishful Thinking

For some, the lips only speak what the tongue allows.

The eyes say more—

but I trust only the walk.

How deliberate are your steps,

that when you move, I believe you’ve left?

We paint with frivolous words.

But our actions—

they’re the only things we ever commit to,

no matter the condition.

And our thoughts?

Unruly products of midnight decisions.

I drank from a bottle laced with forgotten adolescence.

The taste—

flawed.

I trust only your walk,

as if it were my imperfect mind.

Both are steadfast. Concrete.

Yet, we speak in contradiction.

How reckless of us—

to know ourselves,

and still trade truth for comfort.

That is the true beauty of the individual.

–AB