sometimes
i feel poetry in my chest that i can't express
purposeless unconfessed a mess that i try
to gather in my hands but
like sand it
slips from my grip, a
confused clutter of carelessly uttered words of
affection
there's no direction to this
senseless stumble of a poem no way for me to
spill my ink in a pattern that will show you
what i think and hope that you already know, you
are the world and i
am a fool for trying to fit your everythingness on a notebook page