I want to tell you
That I broke my hand
Punching my dorm walls
Repeatedly in your absence.
But truth be told,
I’m still writing dumb prose.

I’d like to give you
A piece of my mind.
I don’t need it, it’s just
The anvil of my heart.
But truth be told,
I’m still writing weak prose.

I’ve got to leave you
Hanging like the solitary
Pay phone at the pier,
Beeping like a flat pulse.
But truth be told,
I’m still writing **** prose.

I must part from you
Yet my prior words
Are tied to my ankles,
There is never distance.
But truth be told,
I’m still writing lame prose.

I need to say to you
How special you are
With what little control
I’ve left of my body.
But truth be told,
I’m still writing this prose.

-Juan Carlos Gomez