Mostly I have been holding back
Most times I don't half-near say
What it is I wanted to say
There is another place where I write
Passionate poetry
Yet even there I am unable to scream
I am unable to tear
At the words of anguish & love &
Despondency & life & pleasure &
Wonder & fun; I am just unable
I am unable, unable to find the words
That remind me
That remind me of your skin, your
Breath, your touch, you hands, your
Toes, your knees, your thighs
I am unable to find these words
I am unable to revisit those places
And on this snowy morning I am
Unable to think about how it is to cry
To scream, to tear, to rage; I am unable
Even to think of the words that might
Say these things to me, I am unable
To even think how I might beat the floor
Or beat my brains, or beat every rhythm
In my hurt hurt heart, I am unable
And as the traffic slows & the nerves
Frazzle & the head aches & the tummy
Gives rise to the nauseous taste of sick
O for those mornings, when the sun shone
When life shone, when I shone; o for
Those mornings, will I ever find
Those words again, why am I unable
Will the breath return, will the peace
Return, will the time return, will
The thoughts and the hopes, will
They all return, will I once again be
Freed from being unable
