To Those Who Have Overstayed Their Welcome
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Poetry On Odyssey: To Those Who Have Overstayed Their Welcome

We all have that someone who has stayed in our lives past their time.

Poetry On Odyssey: To Those Who Have Overstayed Their Welcome

We all have that person who has overstayed their welcome.

It was time for them to check out and return the key 3 weeks, 3 months, 3 years ago but they're still lounging comfortably in the room you've allowed for them to call home.

They come and go, in and out as they please.

The door hinges have begun to wear from the constant push and pull.

Whether they're stumbling in late at night or lying in bed early in the morning, you're not on their mind.

You're in the next room over, sleeping restlessly. In a dream running from creatures without features. You're waking up early to the inconsiderate knock on your door.

Not because they heard your restlessness in the night but because they were wondering if you were ready to spread your legs again.

So you let them in.

Sometimes with bags under your eyes or alcohol on your breath.

They don't notice those dark circles under your eyes dug out like bottomless caverns where your fears and insecurities continue to dig deeper till they reach your soul.

No, they don't notice because they aren't looking at your eyes. They're to busy tugging at your jeans, reaching up your dress to grab your hips and slip their fingers greedily into their temporary bliss.

What about that alcohol on your breath. Do they taste it? Or an even better question, do they care?

The answer is, no.

They don't notice the liquor that is allowing you to finally be even a fraction of yourself around them, but fuck, does it feel good.

Fuck does it feel good to allow that liquor to coat your tongue in a secret elixir whose magic trick is to allow you not to care what you say?

Things you've wanted to say pour out of you like milk spilled at the breakfast table you two will never share.

They pour out of you as he pushes you up against the wall, the film you want to make with the polka dot scarf and red lipstick, you tell him all about it as he kisses your hips, how you want the walls on your home painted orange and yellow so even in the Winter time, Summer is there and you are warm.

There it is. All you've had to say, out there on the ground next to your pile of discarded clothes strewn out all over the floor.

What a mess we've made, you think to yourself.

You close your eyes and ignore the mess. You open them and turn over and he's gone.

A magic trick he has learned and mastered that was beginning to lose its 'wow' factor.

You lie there and close your eyes again. Wondering what it would feel like to pressed up against him and wrapped up in his arms.

Not naked. Fully clothed in the things that make you feel like you're home.

Would you fit in his arm like a puzzle piece? Would your headrest in that spot under his, each supporting each other in their own way?

You open your eyes and realize you will never know because here you are.

Naked in the night, alone but with a realization you've never seen before.

Your naked body, there alone, is the whole picture.

If you open the box, there are no other pieces inside because you are the only piece required to complete the picture.

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
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