i believe that is the word
you more often than not
choose for me, perhaps
because you don't see my emotion
until you call me one.
a recluse, indeed.
ought it offend
i'd throw it back but
the truth to it is that i do not
share nearly enough of myself with you;
green and gambling on the passing of trains,
that's what you make of
through a world that will not forgive
should i not dance in its melée.
i have no use for what's written:
i want to break the lines
and make the loudest of waves. and also
i want to give the explosion of love inside
there is a reason you cannot see
my head and my heart: there is
good reason why no one can see.
they are flawed and brimming!
they are mad and forlorn!
they are in sync and evergreen!
it is too much for strangers to handle;
you can't handle them, dear brother.
you must be considerate of
a heart held hostage
and a brain on overdose.
surely your faith must extend beyond
the paper doll girl
to what she is
when she has form
you must let the recluse be
around you; she doesn't
know you're knocking,
in pursuit of her hostage heart...!