i laugh
not being able to write
you the distraction?
not one bit, it seems.
words, not the issue
there are plenty.
all day i'd cover the page
telling the world about my insides
and how you have scrambled them.
i'd start with how it's fear
how silly poetry could barely touch
not a stab
my fingers nothing short of shocked
touching myself it's as if there's current
your thought brings me to life
but how, how can i tell that
how do i dare cross that line
my heart such a deep and cavernous space
how dare i dig in, mark space upon that muscle
my mind alive, every day, thinking
but you know...somehow
because if i dared, if i felt fearless
i'd say so much more
i'd not hide behind metaphor
silly games, i've never been a fan
time changed all that
so don't scoff, i'm not blocked
it's not the time being consumed
i'm writing plenty, hidden pages
smiling as i dream of the rough touch
behind those eyes
their consuming power unyielding
infinite