Even now as I write a poem about being open, I place it here out of sight. I tell myself it’s a step in the right direction. There is, after all, a chance it could be seen, right? I hope it’s not, but I hope it is. I want everything out in the open but maybe it shouldn’t happen quite like this.
Sarcasm
I keep talking in circles,
trying to hide
all of the feelings
I’ve got building inside.
A scapegoat of sarcasm
hides my emotions.
At least with my words,
less with my motions.
I touch like I love
and I love like I touch.
Softly, sometimes.
Intensely, too much.
The facial expressions,
All of the words I won’t say
Bubbling to the surface
to be left on display.
Sometimes, I wonder
are you so sarcastic too
because you’re trying to hide
the same things that I do?
I hear you’re open-minded.
I’ve got an experiment to try.
What if we stop tiptoeing around,
and just let out what’s inside?
Much love, until next time.
Madeline May I... 