up close & personal

he’s taken my metaphors and similes and alliterations and

everything that has kept my heart concealed.

there’s no hiding around words or potent sentences anymore,

he’s up close and personal.

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i don’t know

“my heart is beating fast,” a statement.

“why?” an impossible question.

i could try explaining.

first, i’ll say because i was nervous.

“wait, no,” i’ll hesitate and furrow my brows, looking for a more accurate word.

then,

i’ll correct myself, a moment of triumph as i slurp back the word hanging from the tip of my tongue.

but somehow, in the swirl of my mind,

i’ll feel as if i only gave you a glimpse into the depth of that emotion.

i wasn’t just a synonym for nervous,

i was also hesitant

and oddly excited

and overwhelmed

and… and,

and.

if i knew the words, i’d tell you.

so i’ll make it simple,

“my heart is beating fast,” a statement.

“why?” an impossible question.


“i don’t know,”

the most unsatisfying confession.

 

it’s time to heal.

i need to stop reading

some of my poetry because

what people don’t understand is that the words

typed or written on those pieces of paper

have the power to transport you

back to those moments that you just

want to forget about

or heal from.

this is the climb

and when i want to give up,

i think of where i want to be.

i visualize victory and joy and peace

and

take a breath.

i want to be better.

i want more than this.

so i continue to amad,

and stand firm and still.

i’m not giving up this time,

no, not until i see the finish line.