Letter

This is another letter I'll never send.
This is where I say the words I can't defend.
In silent cries to a distant friend
is how you'll know I've reached my end.
I need an ear, a hand, a love to lend
or all of it in one big blend.
Against this heat, I can't contend;
I shutter, stutter, break, and bend.

For all I've left unwritten and unsaid,
for all the weight upon my head,
I only wish you'd never fled
leaving me drained and dark and dead.
It's not your fault I bled;
it's your fault all that's ahead.
And you must have known I'd be misled
for all the words I let go unread.

I broke another promise;
I am pitiful and careless;
I am lost and hopeless
and I threw away your kindness.
I am looking for the shape of Jesus,
some salvation in his likeness;
it seems to work for the pious,
making everything bright and sinless.

I hate writing poetry that rhymes:
all the jingles we'll hear in our lifetimes.
Dead writers in their prime.
Stacks of trees you'll never climb.
No words, just chimes.
It oughtta be a crime.
Like a colorful mime,
it's not worth a dime.

So, come on now, pick up the pace
and say what you can say on white space.
I want you so close in this empty place,
but I know, at best, I'm in second place.
It's not in your words, but in your face;
I already know I lost the race.
You can dress me up in pink and lace,
but my heart is still what you'll debase.

************************************************

This is about, at least, three different people and it's all weaved together.

I'm kind of in this in-between because I don't actually want to articulate what I'm thinking and feeling, but I really want to say something about it. It's dangerous for any number of reasons, though. Of course, thinking it and feeling it is probably dangerous regardless of whether I put it in writing. I'm just not ready to admit anything yet.



"Afterall, what's wrong with second best?" Pedro The Lion Second Best