November 8, 2012
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I’ve written you three letters,
every single one is addressed and stamped.
Ready to send.
But I can’t bring myself to send them
because the ink on the pages say things that my mouth never could,
but I somehow forced myself
to scribble down with my careless handwriting.
I want more than anything to tell you how I feel,
to give you some sense of the words and emotions swirling in my head
with the sound of your voice
and your favorite song.
But things are different now.
I want to stop being so brittle and shy,
to step up to the plate with my solid steel bat of words,
ready to whack away the trembling of my hands,
the flopping of my stomach,
the moths taking place of the butterflies,
and will my tongue to dash towards home.
To finally spill the syllables slashing the back of my throat.
I want to feel steady and safe, instead of my knees cracking when I stand.
I want to finally make a name for myself and get out of this town.
I’m too young to feel this way,
to hate so much,
but to love so strongly at the same time.
I want the feeling
of a hand in mine.
I can’t stand this empty feeling that radiates from my skin,
like my outer layer is hollow.
My eyes droop and my smile is getting weaker.
Fifteen years has felt more like twenty.
I want to get a nice old car
and drive until I forget about the people
who have made my heart so heavy.
I want to smile, without the tight knot in my gut.
I want to love myself and love you. I want to feel young.

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LestyP said...
Nov. 10, 2012 at 11:05 pm
Imagery and Feeling.....Evokes desirous passion and longing....Keep writing!!!!
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