While the storms of April are almost past,
The storms inside rage on with a vengeance.
My brain can’t wrap itself around these last
Years of deep and painfully lonely dance

About which I never speak. Rejection
Burns a crater-deep, gaping, misshaped hole
That grows ever larger, and drains passion
From the uncharted center of my soul.

I self-examine every chance I get,
I beat myself up–surely I’m to blame
For all the emptiness I feel. And yet
I’m just not ready to speak to the shame

I feel for being unable to fight,
And bring my aching heart into the light.


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