I've always been nervous
not loud enough to say how I really
feel about this or that. OCD about strange
things like sugar packets and cups on the table
and gradients of tea. I could stand up for other
people but never for me. Always been quiet about
the things that matter and the things tattooed on
my heart like that bird on your arm.  The things that
speak to me in the middle of the night like knocks on a
door, Knock, Knock.  Wake up at three am because God
is yelling at me, but I can't tell any of YOU that because
of the bitterness locked in your chest and there's bitterness
locked in mine. For all this anxiety that I feel up in front of
this crowd, You all make me want to not say things out loud
Because as much as any one of you say you accept all things
you have never once accepted me. And I'm slapping pavement
with bare hands in the middle of the night, red callouses from
holding on too tight, begging for a way in when I'm only ever
gonna be left out because you've water-hosed me from your bathroom
tile like old chunks of grout. I've always been too nervous to say how
I really feel, because my God scares people away.

So here I am too afraid to look off this piece of paper because my voice has never been
above a whisper, and I'm too afraid to see any of you up close and personal,
a shake that no public speaking class could ever fix, because these tremors
are more like heart quakes, and all your demons are hitting my st-stutter
buttons, who ever said you weren't terrifying was a freaking liar

you
are.

i suppose that is the end of that.

I spent years trying to be
one of the boys because i
couldn't be one of the girls
that boys like or girls liked

so now I've learned to be
whatever boys like, whatever
men like I'm not sure. so I search
for those perfect traits that align
with mine and they're never in
the same place, all in different
bodies.  And however petty
it may seem, i'm worried

that no one else will ever like
me for me.

lightening out, a thin
blue flash and I can
feel your arm around
my shoulder and your
kiss on my forehead.
It's true I try to forget
but you still permeate
my scenarios with each
rumble, it's true

it's true
it's true.

i feel that in some places
physical apologies only
make things worse, and
for all the times I tried you
always dismissively waved
your hand and shook your
head, pacifying me with a
simple smile, no, Brooke,
this was my fault.

But the truth is, I'm at fault
too, so one day I hope you
don't look back on me
in dismay, somehow find it in
your heart to forgive me for the
way I am or was. Because love
does not boast the way I did or
refuse an embrace from someone
so confused.

(And although this
wheat field is grand and seemingly
endless I'm thankful to run through
again and again if it meant learning
more from you)