The Librarian with Issues

A mind built of echoes and stories of old

A spirit too restless for one hand to hold

A historian's mind for the dust and the stone,

But you miss the history we've built on our own.

You move like a dancer, easy and free

With enough light for everyone -

everyone but me.

A social storm, a magnetic pull

While I sit in the corner, my heart too full.

I'd trade every note on a sheet for a sign,

That you saw my rhythm as equal to thine

But you're a wild song, a bird on the wing,

And I'm just the listener, learning to sing

You're the perfect I'll never be allowed to keep,

The secret I hold while the rest of them sleep

A melody lost in a different key,

So close I could touch you -

A seat at the table. a name on the list

But I am the shadow that shouldn't exist

A pitying hand or a sympathy vote

A hollow "well done" from a practiced throat.

I'm reading the room like a script in the dark,

Searching for light, but I don't see a spark

I'm sure they are laughing, a hushed, quiet sound,

While I keep my eyes strictly fixed on the ground

I'm a slip in the gears, waiting for them to see

I'm the very worst version of anyone there could be

I'm waiting for someone to finally see

That there's nothina but silence inside of me.

I am a ghost in a well-lit room,

A speck of the dust, a thread on the loom.

Not hated, not loved - just a flickering light,

You are the melody, bright and loud

A dancer's step, a face in the crowd

You trace the history of ancient kings

While I'm the shadow that the music brings

We share the bench, the same wooden reed,

But you play with a grace l'll never lead,

I'm drowning in notes, a blurring line

While you're already onto the next design

I keep your verses tucked under my tongue

Songs of yours that I've silently sung

I've memorized every rhythm and every rhyme

Counting your heartbeats to keep my time.

But I offer my pages, a quiet part

A nervous rhythm, a piece of my heart-

And watch as you glance, then turn away

To the noise and the light of a louder day.

I am the bass note, steady and low

Supporting a song you'll never quite know.

The hardest thing that I've learned to do

Fire is a beautifully dangerous sight

A flickering pulse of heat and light.

It gleams beneath the midday sun

And stays when light of day is done.

It guides the traveler down the street

And makes the candle's glow complete.

An amber touch on skin and sand

A warmth held softly in the hand.

But the light is sharp, the light is deep,

A hungry rage that does not sleep

It bites through bone and blackens skin

Where life ends, the flames begin

It waltzes with a blind intent

To heal a soul or leave it spent.

A fickle hand that gives and takes

As life awakes or spirit breaks.

A paradox in every spark,

To heal the soul or feed the dark.

A gorgeous terror, wild as the stormy sea