Bitter-Sweet

Bitter-Sweet.

Whenever we talk it's like talking
to a wall, I know that im talking but not really
talking at all. Our conversations on the phone were

like a pair of
new basketball sneakers,and each
word a fullcourt game, piling and piling and piling up,

until a pinky toe popped out of the side,
and it was time to throw them on a phone wire and
hang up. But you call back because

you always do, and it's the same Tarantino movie but
with of a bit of a twist at the end. Each time we speak,
a tug on the rope between our phones,

as if with a pull we say, "I'm right!", until I
let go and land face first in a puddle
of I told you so. Maybe I'm wrong.

Or maybe I'm just wrong in your version
of right. But when can i win?
Don't I deserve to be right,

sometimes? Sometimes I want you to be mad,
but most of the time I remember to forget to grin,
because my pride wont let me lose, but my love will let you win.