Yours Truly

Thunder and Lightning tango 

across a cloudy stage. 

They're dancing to the moonlight- 

A song I've long forgotten how to hear. 

And I bet Thunder never steps 

on Lightning's painted toes. 

The stars whistle loudly 

and twinkle their reviews. 

Their applause rain down to me,

falling to the earth in pieces, 

splattering fat and wet 

all around and on me. 

I try to protect myself 

from the falling sky, 

but the papers I hold just wilt, 

sagging with the weight 

of too many fallen dreams. 

The words melt off the pages, 

black lines running from the rain. 

I knew, I always knew 

not to use them as a shield. 

I stand barefoot in the mud, 

filthy and black over my toes, 

as ink from the papers I try to hold over my head 

streams down my face. 

I am drowning and dirty, 

black and ruined in the night. 

Still, I’d rather be out here 

in the pouring rain 

than sitting inside alone. 

Out here, Lightning brightens my path, 

and rain drops greet my face. 

Out here it's so much better. 

---

By the lights inside I see 

that my fingertips are stained 

from drawing out our little story 

on my white, white paper 

in my black ink pen. 

Stained such a pretty charcoal 

to match my shadowed eyes. 

You were right about it, after all, 

it was a way to pass the time, 

writing stories all about our love 

with the ink you poured 

like wine for me. 

Slowly, very slowly, 

I wrote it all out In my careful script 

on my pure white pages. 

Every breath a letter, 

every kiss a page. 

I hid my little story 

in a big black wooden box, 

and I sealed it tightly 

with whispered love 

and stolen kisses. 

I never forgot 

(I know you think I did) 

that you always wanted me 

to be your precious secret. 

(As long as I was precious.) 

I never argued, not with you. 

I titled my manuscript with your name, 

and drew fat pink hearts around 

like they were growing, 

like they were flowers. 

I always wished 

that you would give me flowers, 

you know I love them so. 

No worries, my dear, I know, 

I know that I'm your secret. 

You told me my hearts were silly, 

and, yes, of course they were. 

Silly. I'll erase them. 

It depresses me now 

to see that title. 

Now just heavy lines 

disguising your name. 

Now just a black stain 

on the pristine page. 

Then I hid the legend of our love 

in the solid black wood box, 

sealed with secrets, 

locked with whispers. 

Hush now, you can trust me. 

I won't show my secrets 

to a single soul. 

I was so proud of myself, 

I used up almost all my paper, 

filled it with your ink, 

marked it with your words, 

and dyed it with your vows. 

And in my heart I knew, 

I knew you would be proud. 

---

She's very lovely, dear.

Yes, I can see how much you love her. 

The roses that you gave her 

are very pretty, too. 

Of course, my love, 

I understand, 

that I was never there for you. 

I spent so much time writing, 

too much time writing. 

You poor darling, I could have, 

I should have loved you more. 

(Tears of happiness, love, 

these are tears of joy for you.) 

You don’t have to say it, dear, 

I know, I know you loved me, 

you just couldn't show me. 

I was your little secret, 

your precious little secret. 

She's very lucky, dear. 

Yes, I can see how much you love her. 

Thunder and Lightning bow 

and prepare to leave the stage. 

The moon hums her lullaby, 

and little stars go home to bed. 

Lightning removes the red paint 

from her pearly nails. 

I walk barefoot in the mud, 

leaving my impressions behind. 

Ink from the papers 

I wrote in such a steady script 

flows over my hands, 

as I clutch those blackened fantasies 

to my chest, then let them go. 

My stained gray fingertips 

graze the papers one last time 

before the wind carries them away. 

I stand drowning and dirty, 

black and ruined after night. 

It’s so hard to let go 

of those strong old shields.