Words spoken, too few
Words, written, exposing deep emotions, my way of saying it’s ok to be human…
His obvious humanity is one of the things I love most about Him.
Yet, still, fracture lines appear.
There’s always a price to be paid
for such virginal honesty, always a wish I’d said more, said less,
to ensure clarity and intended depth of understanding.
My words, my allies, they’re always meant, never superfluous, sometimes constructed to leave clues amongst the vulnerable melody.
Those words are both my undoing where fabric tears, and the stitches holding me together, an ironic literal dichotomy leaving embers of blush in their wake.
I wanted to add more words, spoken, to the gifted written, but I didn’t,
Shame interrupts, and self loathing infiltrates, and now words become nemesis, and fade into
I cannot speak
as emotion overwhelms.
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