You: A Poem

I am officially pooped tonight, so I don't have much to say. This week has been extremely taxing on an emotional and physical level. Between a day full of anxiety attacks, drawing a line in the sand with Mel, sinus-induced morning sickness, work, working out, and the challenges of living a real-life version of a Melissa Etheridge song (I'll let you figure out which one), the spark has all but faded in me tonight.

I feel flimsy and transparent, like tissue paper.

But I did manage to quiet the noise in my head long enough to pen the following poem:

You
By Trace Cook

I want to write you poetry
On delicate paper
Flowing, with pretty swirls
Perfect, like how a lady writes

These notions, deep in my heart,
If I could only write them, worthily
Rather than think them, constantly
This would be something worth reading

Yet, I don’t know what rhymes with “you” but you
There’s always “woo”
But, again, that ends with “you” too
So, what’s a fool like me to do?

I want to write you poetry
The kind you only find in old books
Leather bound, embossed with gold
Dusty, like my Bible

These words, stalled in my throat
If I could only speak them, fluidly
Rather than write them, worthily
That would be something worth hearing

Yet, I don’t know what rhymes with “you” but you
There’s always “pew”
But, again, that ends with “you” too
Since I only pray when I’m praying for you

I want to write you poetry
The kind you would never lament
Creatively constructed, simple but profound
Like Angelou, I’d be an original

These desires, cuffed at my wrists
If I could only act on them, tenderly
Rather than speak them, fluidly
I would be something worth having

Yet, I don’t know what rhymes with “you” but you
There’s always “two”
But, again, that ends with “you” too
Two, as in me and you

I want to write you poetry
Because I can’t have you or taste you
Even see you and hear you…and still
Madly, dream woman, I love you!

Copyright © Trace Cook, 2006