Truth Is

the truth is you make me nervous to the point where my words catch in my throat and my pen quivers in my hand and my eyes fill with tears because i’m simply

f r u s t r a t e d

because the thought of you sends me into an abyss where the gears of my mind stop functioning where it’s impossible to think of something intelligent to say and my pride gets the best of me and so i say nothing at all because i don’t want to waste your precious time.

…because how could a creature such as yourself with a life as short to live and air as thick to breathe and sights as beautiful to see as any other living, breathing, seeing being concern themselves with something as

p a t h e t i c

as i who can’t even think of the right words to engage you with unless they’ve been premeditated like a perfectly penned prose and it sounds right in my head but the miniscule amount of beauty in my words disappears when i say it with my own tongue..

so tell me the truth, that you can’t stand to hear my voice and you can’t bear to read my words and you can’t care less about the stories i wrote or the books that i read or the music that i love because i’m just little old me and you’re too

a m a z i n g

to be associating yourself with smaller creatures and you’re aware of this...