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Squeeze

I squeezed a post out
forced it
pushed it through the bars, like prison escapee...
It didn't feel right- but then,
good things never do.

Tortured souls have far more to write
far more to explore, more to complain, more to hang on to
diving deep into inspiration, harbor seal searching for nourishment in the ocean
For some reason, anger, depression and struggle
translate more into promising poet
Less trite, more feeling.

How do I phrase something that can't be put to words?
How each time I stare at you, if I allow myself to, I will cry
tears of delight
at how you've changed my life, how you've shown me what it is to really love
a deep inconsolable, unchangeable love.
How do I tell you
without cheesy-cheese fluff stuffing, coming out at the seams
BLECH- Nobody wants to read happy!! This is what my mind shouts
I used to scorn at these types of writing
hated using the word "love"
Oh really? I'd think...
This is all you have? This is the only way to describe how you feel?
Love being the ultimate way to feel without feeling, I thought... A cop-out...
I thought scripted, I thought fakey, I thought if you needed it
You were just lacking in words.
You weren't quite ready, not really there to where you could compete on a professional
wordsmith level.
But now
I find myself
clinging to that, saying it all the time, spitting over my own words
frickin' shitting mad that even I can't come up with something better,
and I think to myself "Really? Is that all you've got?"

How? How do you explain
heart bursting apart with happiness, how do you explain
violent fits of giggles, clammy handed happy holding
How do you cross that line without hearing the other poets snort behind you,
coughing at your lack of talent?

Then I realized
just push it.
Force it.
Who are you trying to impress?
Your own standards are higher
than any that could be imposed upon you...
And really. What are you writing this for?
For acclaim? For fame?
No, no....
For yourself. For HER.
Will she care if it sounds trite, flighty, will she notice
if it's not the A+ sticker poem you meant to write when you set out to be?
She won't scorn you, tell you it never should have been... All she will see
is your blind, silly love, that you were encompassed
engulfed
by her
and she will never be able to say
that she didn't know.

And that? That's what really matters, in the end.
Squeeze.
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