i could tell you i love you
if i knew enough words
and the way you look at me
wasn't enough
to make me leap from tall buildings with a single bound:
this superman is a kryptonite junkie.

cowardice doesn't quite capture it.
sometimes you gaze on something so beautiful
that you feel shame for taking that peek.
you think you know their name,
but it's just a word that you say aloud,
a word
that reminds you of that feeling.
to try to name something that perfect
is the folly of man.

and when they look back towards you,
whether in disgust or
even worse
with some sense of reiteration
the shields go up
and you hide in the panic room of the mind.
it's easy to defend yourself from
a pain that you're used to.
it's hard to surrender and
give up
that little bit of yourself
that's been kicked
and stomped
and burned
for far too long.
that part of you they think they're ready for,
battle scars and all.

if you're not bleeding for the ones who love you
then you don't really know what it means to love
it's the ultimate sacrifice
because
there's nothing else you have worth offering.

i hear voices in my head sometimes.
they tell me to cut it out
stop writing
stop pretending you've got something to say.
i don't do this for them.
i do this for me,
because it shuts them up for the time being.
and for you,
because i owe you
and i'm sorry.