In fits, and in starts, and in little tearful pieces, I...
I don't know how it began, or where.
Perhaps in your smile.
I can't say those sacred words to you.
I pour out my emotion, all but those
Three tender words that would break me
If you didn't say them back.
If you didn't say them back
I would be irreparable
Lost in the shards of
The starry broken dream of you.
So I write poems about how I need
Want, desire, need, cherish, adore
Without once using the word...
The word for the grandest of emotions
The word I've felt and shared before
And never received in kind.
I hold it back, because it makes no
Matter at all what I feel if you
Don't feel it too and how
How would I ever know?
I don't know how it feels to be
Someone's who, when, why and how
To be subject to the workings of a man's
Or even a mother's
Heart.
I am...
A moth with no wings
Desperate to fly into the beauty
That is the light
If only
To immolate myself.
A song-less Nightingale
Who has forgotten her tune
Out of sheer
Dependency on another voice
With whom to sing.
A victim of our circumstances
Until I can change them.
I
Cannot
Say
Those
Words
And lie here hoping and praying that you feel them anyway.