Speak

A whispered promise from troubled lips,
“Let them speak.”
I was only jealous of their words,
the pitter-patter of each ugly syllable
marching to the rhythm of their sensitive morals.
I was only jealous of their words.

A truth too real, too painful to accept:
You’ve barred yourself too far away.
I know what it means to be stretched so thin
until the skin feels ready to tear apart and leave me asunder,
grappling for a handhold in a world that wishes to hold and analyze
but never support
and we’re afraid to affirm or negate,
pulled between obligations to him and her and everyone else,
and the promises we’ve made to ourselves.
I know what it means to be torn apart.

A voice thick with fury, a lonely plea disguised,
“You’re the only one.”
Where does that leave me?
I reach out my hands to you.
In doing so, I reveal an anthology of scars
that I am afraid to show.
I reveal the twisting, gnarled roots that are buried
in my cool heart,
and hope you do not run away.
You are so far away, but I
reach out my hands to you.

I reach out my hands to you
and wait.