itchy but pretty sweater

I try to speak life into your body

but it stays dead and motionless.

When I speak, you cover your ears,

running away from words that would heal you.

You vent to me—oh how you vent—about being trapped,

but have you ever considered that maybe, just maybe,

you are the one that built the wall you're stuck behind?

Brick by brick, stone and cement combine to create a barrier

in which you have settled into and called your home.

You live life in an itchy but pretty sweater,

easily taken off, but too mesmerizing

and addictive to even try to take it off.

I only pray that one day, somehow, some way

that at least one of the seeds I've tried to give you

has settled into your heart's soil and will spread someday,

even if I don't get to see the fruit of it.

I hope you will find joy again.