A poem falls short; I'd like, instead to draw a single line from me to you and watch it curl into a word so beautiful it's still unsaid – or press paper to the window pane so that the day might saturate a note that brightly warms your hands, spills birdsong from imagined trees and buzzes like fat bumblebees, but I am bound by language, love; I can't.
Call a doctor/ plumber/ priest My heart is broken/ leaking/ deceased My life is worthless/ so much better/ over I'm going to **** myself/ tell your wife/ Dover How could you leave me/ not know/ lie? I hope you return my stuff/ come back/ die I'll never forget you/ forgive you/ go away I need closure/ a DNA test/ to tell you I'm gay Your face/ crotch/ top of your back Is so beautiful/ lumpy/ unusually slack Your ex/ mother/ best friend from school Always made me great coffee/ feel inadequate/ drool I will miss you/ **** you/ stalk you forever That way we can be friends/ get away with it/ be together I'm sorry you did this/ I did this /we failed I promise to pay you/ dye it back/ get you bailed Please don't leave me/ show the Polaroids/ write or call
I am justly inadequate no one knows my name the strangers I pass by all treat me just the same. They never ask about my day or if I feel okay, we all look on in silence repeating yesterday.
I am justly inadequate I work hard to be not enough my conscience is never heavy but my heart isn't up to *****. My hands are warm and loving, callused, hard and rough, a willing heart without a reason just never has been enough.
I am justly inadequate I stare out windows thinking that if I could just be someone else then I would get a chance to be the man I could have been but as I am, I know I can't.
I am justly inadequate no one knows my name. And every time I try to laugh I can only muster shame. I try to smile, once in a while, to trick the gloom away, but I still know that I am inadequate any day.