dimensions

i’m trying to write in three dimensions
so that every word is echoed
in your ear-
every syllable is resting on your tongue,
every metaphor is tugging on your sleeve
i’m trying to write because
i feel so desperate to make
this poem heard-
i feel like
i’m trying to take out all
my organs at once so that you
know i’m not trying to conceal
anything.
i’ve been in your place before.
i’ve sat slightly beyond your
shoulder and cringed as you
read my title wrong,
left the audience feeling shaky and
unsettled, skipped right over my metaphors
and final words,
made me feel homesick for a better time
when you didn’t maul my poem into being yours,
when my poetry was just my poetry
and i didn’t feel like i was
walking in reverse at every open mic
and letting the stiff plastic chairs
have more presence than me.
i remember a time
when i didn’t call poetry
poetry-
it was a story.
they were all stories and
i loved them all.
now my storytelling days
are over and i wonder why.
maybe it’s because i wrote you cheap poems
that i didn’t really mean, signed
the back in invisible ink and
let the postal service lose it
behind their endless blue bins.
maybe i’m not a storyteller because all
the stories i have to tell have escaped my heart too quickly
to be written down.
i’m sorry if i’ve disappointed myself.
i would have loved to see
how this poem
really ends.