This feels like a stupid test
My heart cannot rest
I’m doing what is best
but, oh God,
feeling—distressed.

Recognising
Emotions
Brought
Out.
Unfinished
Not
Done.

You’re reading my poetry,
the inside of my mind,
written when the emotions crest and
I have to get them out.

You’re reading my poetry.
It does not hide a thing.
The rawness and soreness
the ups and the downs
the confusion, the spirals.

Why did I tell you where to find me,
here in this sea of anonymity?

It’s probably not a good idea
to fill a hole
with a distraction, but
sometimes a distraction
is better than loud thoughts.

You are back
in my thoughts and my heart.
Like a tenacious ivy vine
with importunate tendrils.
I’d thought I had put the feelings to rest—
you’re not mine—
but here you are again
in the memories, the thoughts,
the everything.