I can’t stop writing to you,
About you,
For you.
Every word in every poem,
All my ramblings,
Incoherent thoughts,
They’re all addressed to you.
Something within me thinks you’ll stumble upon them,
Find them by accident,
Wonder if it’s crazy to see yourself there.
I can promise that you are the “you” I keep writing to,
The only one I hope will read my words,
Get the words,
Feel the words,
See me through them.
I’ve been whispering my feelings,
Hiding them in metaphors,
Riddles between stanzas,
Organized neatly and subtly in the lines of my poetry.
I want to scream them.
I want them to be loud and clear and sure,
The way they are in my mind,
My heart,
My spirit.
I am so filled with love for you,
So consumed by it.
I feel like a coward for hiding behind the puzzles I fabricate with words.
I am so afraid the more I feel,
The more I say,
The less you’ll want me.
I’m so afraid that acknowledging your grasp on my mind,
Your place in my poems,
Is a reality you’re not ready to accept.
I’ve waited so patiently for the right time,
Tried so hard to find the right combination of words,
But I don’t know how I’ll live if there is no right time,
If the right words elude me.
That’s a pain I know I can’t handle,
Truthfully,
Regretfully,
Torturously,
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to.