to: you (prosers who read my writings, among other things); from: me, in a jumbled mess
i do not know how to say it,
but i am
i am very
i am feeling very
(for lack of a better word)
compressed.
compressed, that is,
beneath the
desire to tell you,
to show you
hope and love and light and God and every good thing and that
there is a way out of
this darkness that i feel, that,
perhaps,
you feel, too.
and that feeling is so very
compressing
because i’ve got all of this
not
hopeful, loving, light-giving, God-shining, good-focusing things,
or
ways to help you fight/swim/run/live
through the darkness until you see a light on the other side
that i feel, and,
perhaps,
you feel, too;
but it’s all.
um.
a lot of stuff.
not hopeful things, or loving, or light-giving, God-shining, good-focusing,
or even,
ways to help you fight/swim/run/live
through the darkness until you see a light on the other side.
it is only grief that i can stand to speak,
only,
exhaustion, that i can
seem to
convey.
i am sorry.
i am sorry that it is this way,
but, then again,
i am
not.
because i am being
honest
with you, and i believe
that this is a
step
in the right direction.
if nothing else, i am being honest with you.
if you take nothing from my recent poems, nothing at all, please understand
that it is honesty
written in my poetry.
h o n e s t y ,
and i plead with you to be honest, in turn -
not necessarily,
with me (i can hardly ask that of you, but, if you would like, i am here),
or with prosers themselves,
but,
be honest
with those you love
and who wholly love you back (no matter how much you think they might love you [as in, less than you love them], but if you love them, please, please, please be honest with them.)
or, at the
very
least,
if you are still
working
on being honest with others,
(which is plenty fine, i understand,)
(i spent a long time)
(figuring out how to be honest with myself)
(before i could be honest)
(with anybody)
(else)
please be honest with
yourself.