I wanted to talk to you,
but so many words won’t easily pass by the lump in my throat.
It takes less effort to write them down.
So, I’m taking the easy road again.
I just can’t keep it to myself right now,
pushed and held down in the pit of my empty stomach,
in the ball that twists and turns,
and fills with all the anger, all the hate, the sadness
and the feelings I’m having that I’ve never put names to.
I have to dig them up this time.
And since my shovel is the alphabet,
my pick becomes the question marks, the exclamation points.
The commas start to pile as I begin to work,
tying together run on sentences like they were mounds of earth,
getting bigger and bigger one letter at a time,
until the sun burns my face, and the sweat stinks my clothes.
Then I can stand, proud of my hard days work,
able to turn and see the giant pile of dirt that is my past.
That is probably when I’ll talk to you.
When there is nothing left inside me,
but an empty stomach and a lump in my throat.
*** leest1 ***