The truth is -
I want words, I don't want words,
I want something to say -
maybe about that old room hidden
in my heart chambers, the one
I pretend isn't there,
and so well that I convince myself
most of the time -
I want a flash of importance,
a breakthrough, a break-out,
I want it to stick,
I want something to stay, to say.
The truth is-
I've been running for as long as I can remember
with the soles of my feet against the edge
of a sharp-faced cliff-
heart thrumming, humming,
hurting, hunting -
It's okay.
It's fine.
One day I'll finish this poem
if I can keep my balance long enough
to find the words I want
or don't want to say -
but for now - - -
