i don’t have the words to tell you
about the cacophony of
feelings that tiptoe to me
in the rain,
in the dark,
in between the pages of books.
i’m a writer so i should know
how to talk about feelings by now-
almost all of my poems are about sadness
but sometimes i still struggle to paint
words into constellations
that will make sense to you.
i have secrets buried deep,
but i didn’t keep the treasure maps.
i’m not sure when the boardwalk was built
above my little nests of unspoken words
but now i walk,
gently, bare feet
brushing against the sandpapered wood.
i walk along the boardwalk of my heart,
i feed quarters of self-doubt into
and watch memories appear
in the binocular hollows.
i sit on a rusted bench,
i’ve forgotten what i’m waiting for but
for some reason it makes sense
to be here.
maybe someone will join
me on the boardwalk,
holding an ice cream cone in one hand,
extending their other hand out to me,
waiting for me to
and let all of the words
spill from me like the stuffing
of a ripped teddy bear.
maybe i would have the words,
standing on the boardwalk of my heart,
holding hands with someone
who will listen without interrupting,
who will smile at the best parts,
understand the worst parts,
and walk with me once more.