something cliché

if tomorrow i asked you a question, would you answer?
if i asked for a beat or two, would you spare them?
if asked to name you, i couldnt
i'm no good at making things up.
the only thing i'm good at is feeling
the ache, the longing
that twists in my chest
shooting down my arms
to the palms of my hands
and pressing there
painfully
until i press my hands together
completing the circle
creating release
without escape

have i lied to you?
have i misdirected
empathy?

my heart is hard right now.
and far from God.
and this voice inside
says let go
when the longing comes
it says deal with it
when the anger comes
surging, hot on my nerves.
it says stand
do not kneel
and the flood washes around my ankles
stinging bits of sand and shell
cutting my feet
letting the stinging saltwater
bleed into my flesh

i never meant to keep your voice.
and i wonder at the fairness
of losing you
but keeping your criticism
losing your love
and caring
and comfort
while keeping the pain
and overbearing voice
with me.

that which i would wish forgotten
stays
despite repeated tearing
hardening
and distraction
your eyes when you smiled at me
your words that comforted and loved
through my tears and doubt
i wish it all forgotten.

{in your trunk, there was something for you...i dont know if you found it}