david conroy

performance anxiety
david conroy

The truth has a tiger in her hips,
an invitation in her eyes
and a way of patting the space beside her,
be it the couch or the bed,
that makes the prospect of her company
seem very worthwhile.

The truth has an appeal
that lies in the little things,
like the secrets of her smile
and the fact she doesn’t care
what your underwear looks like
since your wearing them
doesn’t figure much in her plans
anyway.

The truth can make you feel
uncomfortable some times,
ask questions about subjects
that you were happy to ignore
and let lurk in the corners
with the dust bunnies,
the book club offers
and the papers you meant to organize
but never do
because you want to spend more time
with the truth.

The truth can be a daunting proposition,
fearsome in her temper,
harsh in her deliberation,
and cruel in her mercy.
Handling the truth is never certain,
never a done deal,
never something you are sure of
until you are in that moment.

The truth has a way
of looking you in the eyes
that makes surrender the only option.
But there is a hunger there,
an undeclared expectation,
a desire for fulfillment
that is like the unfilled cup of history.
You’ll give it your best shot,
naturally,
but you’re not sure
if that will be good enough.

The truth wears your shirts
the next morning
and maybe it’s the sunlight
or maybe it’s the blushing blur of dreams,
but you can’t help but think
that they look a whole lot better on her
than they ever will on you.

The truth looks good most days
and, better yet, most nights
when looking good always adds up
to a little bit more -

in all the right kind of ways.