This Biography

 

My heart beat fast or did not beat at all;

I could not say all that I thought and thought

till words deserted me. I loved too abstractly.

I dreaded how all there was to give was me—

like water, this biography. I unravelled far too easily

then fled to selfish deserts and slept on the hardest rocks.

I couldn’t make what others made and broke and broke

and made, that sweet choreography. I went alone

and missed the world continually. I misread smiles;

I stuttered before open arms, but time passed too fast

for disappointment’s imprint on the glass of memory.

I sought the future even when the blood swirled now,

I let the past decide too greedily. I kept searching out