THE CLOSET MYSTIC

here we are,

we’re all trying to be somebody,

to be seen by somebody,

yet we see through everybody,

everybody invisible 

to everybody.

i decide to be the person who sees.

that’s all anyone wants, isn’t it?

i want someone to hold my hand,

and not grasp thin air–

i want to lay my head on your chest,

without falling through,

hitting the pillow–

love so oft

a nugget of gold

placed in a palm–

but when you grasp,

it turns to ash,

slips through your fingers,

all for naught.