Some Things I Still Can't Tell You: Poems

by Misha Collins

When I’m far from you, I imagine the Details of your existence, What you had for breakfast, Who you saw for lunch, Whether you have on Your white sweater Or your red one On this East Coast winter day, As if painting in Your waking hours With textures, tastes, And geographies Will make you More real to me And close the space between us.

When I was learning to act And needed to cry for a scene, I would often imagine the unbearable emptiness Of a life without you.

Since I was four, I’ve been parent to my little world, Taking care of mom and brother, Taking pains not to Rub anyone the wrong way Or make them feel bad, No matter how bad I feel.