A picture can paint
1000 words
but it can obscure
1000 more.
Snapshots of old,
you are an iceberg.
How you deceive me!
To be that beautiful again,
I don’t know if I ever will be,
if I were to look
only skin deep.
How a glow
can obscure darkness.
How weight loss
can mask a heaviness
in the soul.
Surrounded by people
but utterly alone.
Traded real warmth
to be “hot”–
but how cold
did I feel.
Why did I think
I’d cure the hunger
in my heart
by starving myself?
To be truly seen: that which we both long for and fear the most.
…
The funny thing about the terrifying ordeal of letting yourself be truly known is that there is no real love without it; and yet, we grow so convinced that the love which we so desperately crave would only elude us even more if we were to simply be seen.
It goes something like “All I want is to be loved; but if you were to really know me, you wouldn’t love me.”
All the unlovable and broken bits. The parts of me that desperately need love the most are the parts I cannot show you for fear of you leaving.
Yeah. Something like that.
yeah, yeah, yeah,
silent on the home front,
the familial mute.
My journal had ears,
you all just had mouths.
Ask me what’s wrong
then talk over me–
I tell you what’s wrong
you tell me
why I’m wrong.
The quiet one;
I learned speaking
and not speaking,
they were the same,
I’d be just as heard
either way.
Or maybe
you all had such thick armor
I had to throw a dagger to be known.
but I never wanted to join the war,
never wanted to join the war.
valorous veteran
weathered warrior
steely heart.
such tales to regale
of battles lost,
battles won.
the past: his anchor.
its scars: his Kevlar.
hardened: he fears none.
but prisoner of war,
hold that secret:
yes, bite your tongue.
that one confession
its hated sweetness
he’d sooner taste a gun.
what a taboo,
oh, warrior,
it is to love…
So many ways to say I love you. I choke on the words. Please, please tell me you can see it in my eyes. Tell me you can feel it in my hands. Tell me you can hear it in my heartbeat when your head’s on my chest.
This strange effect you have on me. I’ve hardened myself to the world… but with you, my gaze softens. You melt the ice in my tone, you make me pour forth warmth I didn’t know existed within me.
There are daggers in my eyes by default. One look at you and they’re lowered.
I’ve heard of love described as holding cold, austere offices. I think these offices are obscured to the child who longs for a warm embrace.
Life forced you to choose between a fed child and a held child. I don’t blame you for choosing to feed me. I thank you.
I’ve figured out the warmth portion. I think I can hold you myself.
THE CLOSET MYSTIC 