Scared to send,
because I’m afraid it’s no good.
to care not, though I know I should.
in the inner depths of my mind;
I should give
them their own rightful space and time.
Just last night,
you questioned why I don’t publish.
Doubt and fright
that they may tell me, “It’s rubbish.”
a war, on myself, I declared.
I must go
out and show the world what I’ve bared.
Time, for me,
passes and treats me rather well.
I’ve written does not fare so well.
them alive, so no one can find
them out of my heart or my mind.
Time is up,
I can hold them captive no more.
I fucked up,
but I can’t do that any more.
This is not,
a love poem like all the others.
not, and there will soon be others.
You’re the one,
though, that pushed me over the top.
Far from done,
I hope that this will never stop.
Soon, my Love,
my soul will again be at ease.
these worries, I’ll do as I please.
I want just
to say thank you for your question,
a small thrust
pointing in the right direction.