This Seperation

An oldie. From a scare.

I hate having to sit
on this blank piece of paper.
I try to draw friends
but my graphite fades away
like the disappearing ink from
the joke shop on the corner,
only this time the joke
isn't funny.

I am the color yellow
in the masses cloaked in
green. They all have
their shades of blue
but I am what I am.
It's not like I stand alone;
I'm hanging out in the crowd
and plenty of spectators
join me in the cheering.
Yet I am alone because
every time we cheer
I'm in a different language
then they all are.
And I can't cheer for long -
I am not a cheerleader.

I am that off key note
she hits when she tries
to be a diva. It looks so
glamorous and feels so good
in the moment.
But soon there is no tea
to soothe those sultry notes
and her voice becomes jaded
and I am that note that
reminds her that she is still
human and prone to error.

I am that secret that you
want to spread with all of your soul
because you don't want to be
the only one who knows it,
but you know deep down that
you don't really want everyone
to know.
You just want someone to understand.
And you know that they won't.

And even on that potential drawing -
in the masses -
within the notes -
they would never understand.
Even though the bridge
does connect my island to theirs,
and they wave constantly
and send me gift baskets
and I make plans to visit,
that extremely short distance feels
like walking across the universe.