Can we talk about how you made the unsaid, said?
You, who is so eager, wanting the best for me...

The first thing that happens is you
romanticize it, or maybe that part...

I feel myself slipping,
floating off to an unnamed...

Dreams are not tangible
yet I grip my pen to recount...

My desire to be safe
is a flower in false bloom...

April brings memories of you -
your smile, like sunshine...

So tell me, do I wallow?
Do I indulge the darkness...

And I am somewhat glad
to be home among the sunshine...

What's it like to wake up and feel
the start of a new day...

You worry about being the target again,
a political pawn...

Poetry follows me in sleep,
trailing down snowy banks...

It's funny how you thought you overwhelmed me,
when really, I overwhelm myself...