Poetry
is all for You
The only thing I can do for you
is write this poem, and that poem,
and this poem.
The only way I can talk to you
is through this paper, these letters,
these words.
Distances and circumstances divide us,
misunderstanding and
fear ….. the walls
that prevent us
from finding each
other and what might be.
The days are long
and the nights longer
in empty sleep.
I tear your memory from my mind
and stop reliving
minutes in time
that pretend
there is promise in something
yet to be.
I return to the only thing I can really do for you
and write this poem, and that poem,
and this poem.
You
can’t see me
SEEING you
not
seeing me
as I really am inside
or care to be seen
on the outside
is paralyzing
and
tormenting.
And every new word
you uttered
dissolved a hope
i had nourished
of birthing a bond between us.
And every new word you uttered
nailed the coffin
shut
a little tighter
into the flesh of my heart.
Finally, spending time with
you
in a space I carefully claimed
for us,
you talked about your life
with her …
SEEING you
not
seeing me
as I really am inside
or care to be seen
on the outside
is a blinding
storm
of crashing and homeless
intimate desires.
