There are so many words

Bottled inside me,

that I feel the need to say.

However, circumstances,

Life, and petty excuses

Are always in the way.

Every time we get the chance to talk

one of us feel limited of trust,

So the words keep building up inside

And my body isn’t enough to hold

Both of our loads.

So I wrote you a word,

and then another word,

and another, and another,

until I wrote you a sentence.

I took a chance, I wrote it down

and sent it as a present

In the hope at least you'll read my words

even if they don’t impact you greatly.

At least I'll know I sent to you

my piece of love that

you could’ve personally

never understood.

That alone, will do me good.

But will the words upon the paper

reach you in ways that I never could?

04.17.18