The Sound of Grace

I’m not going to write a poem about it.

Nope. 

I refuse.

I don’t want to do it.

I know that if I let these feelings out, I’ll be a wreck for the day.

So here I am, 

trying to save me from myself.

I know that if I even get a thought onto paper,

it will spiral

out of

control.

No

I won’t right a poem about it.

Because in that poem, I

will revisit every thought I’ve had.

I

will remember the good times,

ironically,

and burn with confusion at the idea of the delusion that I

thought was real.

I’d remember the hope, 

and revisit the other poems I wrote

in the hopes

of seeing an amazing end.

But that’s not how the story ends.

If I even think of a title, 

I’ll talk about how I felt idle,

and remember my endeavor for us to even be together.

THAT FRICKIN’ SMILE.

I can never forget it.

Wow.

Good thing I won’t write a poem

about how you were disgusted with who I really was.

Independence, and joy are totally turnoffs–

I see where you were coming from.

Good thing I’m not going to talk about or think about that rejection.

I’m not even angry, I’m just confused at what happened to you

to me

to our friend.

Good thing I’m not bringing it up.

It’s been a long time since you’ve come to mind. We’ve both been occupied with other loves.

In between, we’ve joked of the possibility of us. You think it no longer crosses my mind, but it does.

Just think: what if we were more than eye candy? More than ideas, than friends, than “buzz”?

What if we can become something that is, inspired by a passion that was?

In all honesty, I’m being selfish. I want you for your love, but also for your lips. I want your eyes to (on me) be fixed.

Your physicality is not off of my list.