Messy Middle

By
She’s always been there.
And it’s always been there.
But a sheltering shield
always seems
to follow her and
my confidence trails
too slowly behind.
And if inherent intimidation
weren’t enough of
a deterrent,
competition consistently
cages my efforts.
Summon strength,
self!
Call forth courage
to make known
an undiscovered longing.
But no,
remain reserved
to protect against
the greater than likely
rejection, then
unresolved ending with
a crippled continuation
of curiosity of
what could have been.
Safe in the shadows,
but for what?
To have protected pride
and passed up pain?
Then where does passion lie?
Do I rely
on patience, passivity,
and providence to
make known my
presence to her?
If only
we were older
and unafraid.
Or younger
and unafraid.
But this messy middle
complicates it all,
and my fighting efforts
will likely be futile.
I speak now with a
hanging hope, but
as soon as her
sweet strength radiates,
my rationales
will remain wrapped.
I pray, then,
to be someday guided
to make known
to her
my hidden feelings,
with the possibility
of a precious chance
to change what
we’ve always been
to what I’ve always
wanted us to be.





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