By Ali
Date: 2002 Apr 15
Comment on this Work
[[2002.04.15.08.15.3998]]

What is not Said

Sometimes, it is the words that hurt the most,
That leave the deepest gash,
That infect the worst disease.
Sometimes it is what's spoken
That aches inside me,
Fills up my thoughts,
And tears apart my certainty
With overly analytical fangs.
Sometimes...
But not this time,
This time is different and yet--
It is just as painful.
This time it is the silence
That speaks,
That screams,
That curses
And rages.
It is what is not said
That cuts me up inside,
That takes my breath,
That steals my knowledge,
Leaving me nothing but questions
And pain,
Not to mention insecurity.
I am strong,
But not all of the time.
I suppose that you just happened
To catch me when I'm not at my best,
While I'm searching for something
Without,
Rather then within.
I'm reaching out in my own way,
But I don't think you know that--
Why would you?
We have not known each other long,
So you don't really know me,
And that's fine because I don't really know
You.
But I'd like to,
For whatever that's worth.
But the rules are different here,
I can't help but wonder
If I've overstepped some bounds,
Because still I'm not quite sure how this goes.
Perhaps you question my motivation--
I know that I have.
I don't know what I want from you
Beyond friendship,
Or if there could,
Or should,
Be anything more.
But all of this, what I've written here,
Is the truth, as I see it--
Still, I wonder what it is that you see,
I wonder what you feel
Or don't feel,
But I simply cannot ask you.
That is not because I don't know how,
But because I don't know if I should
Pursue this any farther.
So, for now,
It is your silence that speaks.