the blinking cursor mocks me
the whiteness of the page blinds my eyes and stains my thoughts
if I could just fill the empty space in front of me
maybe I could fill the empty space inside of me

I want so desperately to write of a love so grand
I want to write of flowers and beauty and the touch of natures hand
but no
I grasp at words that float by
trying hard to hold on to a thought or idea or memory that doesnt harm me
trying to feel a feeling that doesnt feel like Im only feeling it just to feel something else
trying to get back some sort of sense of myself

all of the nameless faces and places that they are wont understand
theyll peek at me, as open as a dissected biology frog
pinned down on a tray in sixth period
somewhere near the end of the day
and theyll say: that is so deep
but no one will really know
just how deep the well does go
no one ever really wants to look that far anyway

so, as the letters go
one in front of the other
more orderly than my life has ever been
forming words and sentences and phrases and such
so much, but not much
I keep waiting for a hand out there to reach out and touch me
as open as I can be

01/27/2008

Posted on 01/27/2008
Copyright © 2026 Barry Franklin