The Thing About Them

Now there was this thing about them
That caused me at times to doubt them
Or created conflict in my mind:
Usually there was a he one
And there also was a she one
But somehow they came out differently
And one of them, when she was she
Would smile and burn a hole in me;
A hole that was too hard for me to hide
Once I had a dream about her
In a field, alone outside a
Tiny little cottage made of sticks
It was much too small to use it
So she bumped her head and bruised it
Trying to get through the tiny door
Afterwards, I went to tell her
But it was the he, I felt, who
Nodded at my words indifferently
And of course when this would happen
There was still a she to tap upon
My shoulder from the other side
But it wasn’t her who looked then
Close perhaps, but like some bookend
That had come misshapen from its mate
So I told myself there must be
Some way I can make them just be
Who I want to be with all the time
Cause it kept me at a distance
But my senses kept insisting
It was much more interesting inside