what should i even tell you about myself
(brushing aside this feeling that
i shouldn't even have to,
there is something innate here to know,
something you should have
caught on to years, millenia, ago)
what do i even say once i have your attention?
but attention is no sure thing,
some soft willingness
or blunt capability of receiving my heart.
because the first thing to know about me
is that i am composed of words,
all phrases, all sounds
composing my soul and my body--
if i utter even one sentence,
a fragment of my existence drifts out of me
and into open air.
(and the feeling that it shouldn't need to,
that i should be something safer,
corporeal matter or
carbon atoms all mixed together.)
what is there to be said
when all words are a commensurate loss,
each taking its home with it
to wherever i have sent it in the world?
you cannot even hear me,
you have the will, but will not.
i will keep all the words with me,
they are too young to leave,
i will keep all the words with me till they are stronger
and apply them judiciously
over morning coffee.