It has been too long since my pen
has touched paper
in the quiet honesty
I have so often been accused of having.
But I never wanted the words to stop
never wanted the silence charged
with so many things that needed
to finally be said.
I am vague at best these days
living life in secret
thinking of my life
and hiding things away in boxes..
things I never wanted said.
I am hovering between my past and future
every day
and I neglect the present so much
I am someone different in every hour
and that someone
whoever I am
is dictated by whatever memory (or hope) assaults me.
I am too often drained
and distraught
so far flung into a world of uncertainty
that decision making has become an unmoving endeavor.
I go through boxes of emotion
boxes of old things
that once encountered the promise
of a full life.
I have forgotten how to say things
beyond what the words are with my poetry.
I never wanted to make myself this lonely
but it is my own fault
because in breaking other's hearts
I must break my own for penance
before someone else does.
Am I going too easy on myself?
I am too often drained
and distraught inside of myself
too far flung into a world of uncertainty
to move in either direction
and most days
I feel I have to move
and possibly lose a limb
in order to keep my head
or loose my voice
in order to keep my heart.