Wallflower

I sit and I fight the uncertainty that grips the ropes of self-restraint,
and I wonder what holds you back from being closer to me.
I've never told your secrets and I've never told a lie.
I have brought down the truth and buried it,
but the past is merely a ghost.
Your shy, tender soul will hear me no more.
You've locked up my words
and inhibited yourself from obtaining new ones.
I am bereaved at this knowledge.
I am cold with this blood on my hands.
I only write letters for you with hope that after I die
someone will hand them to you and you'll read them quietly.
Perhaps you'll realize something about me,
but while I'm living you'll never hear me say that you've figured me out.
I cannot know you any better,
but I'll still seek your soul.
The world is vastly unknowledgeable
and yet it contains the knowledge we seek
and the secrets we wish to forget,
like a child with powers he doesn't know he possesses.
We have soft souls that often blend in with the world, unnoticed and unmarred.
It is much easier to look at our lives as geometric shapes
rather than a build-up of blocks.
It's unfair to let yourself be so limited,
but fairness is all in a game.

Cara Hawkins 9-28-09