The blank page beckons,
waiting to be filled with everything
I couldn't say,
all the half-formed phrases
tearing at my heart.
All the fluid, semi-shapeless dreams
and desires--
ambition without legs, genius without arms.
A mind without its own melody.
And once again,
I stood beside you
and could not speak.
My heart is bleeding.
Patch it with paper;
stitch it with pen.
Rock it to sleep with this lullaby of looping, curving
letters and words and lines and
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