older

one day i’ll be older,

with older hands and older bones.

once i had a younger smile, i know;

not from the memory

of how it sat on my face

but from the pictures

of it crinkling up to my eyes.

and so although i know

that my voice will be older one day,

with older words,

i cannot quite believe in it.

~

ah, so the reality of it

does not seem real.

a waste of energy to force myself

to leap forward in time,

with all the unknowns

and unimaginables.

think of this instead:

that older self with older dreams,

what might she need

that i can build today?

think of this too:

tomorrow i’ll be older

and that is a future too

and i am building.

lines

these lines beg

for something beautiful

to run across them,

a shining newness

to fill them,

a meaningful

masterful stroke

to complete them.

~

i know what

these lines seek

but all i can offer

is an attempt at wit

and a poem

where there once

was only lines.

once upon a friend

we fell into each other’s lives

and i’m grateful for the collision,

the marks it left on us (on me. on you?).

i felt a little surge of energy

when we connected,

and i bet i made a promise

(with my actions if not my words)

that we could grow to be friends,

that we would continue to be,

that you mattered to me.

~

and if you think about me still

(if you every really did)

i bet you think of a liar,

inoffensive perhaps but untrustworthy,

saying much i did not mean.

you might be right.

~

i just wish i could have said

(could say still,

along that connection we found once)

could you hold onto us for me.

to be so selfish to tell you

i’ll say yes if you ask the question,

to be so pathetic to admit,

i really like you but

i’ll probably never do anything

unless you reach out first.

~

the thing was, i met you and you shone.

it lit me up and i leaned in

and i let myself forget this twist in me

i have to hate so often.

foolish, perhaps, to think it’d be different,

foolish to think you’d be willing to do all that work,

whether or not i could bring myself to ask.

~

i bet we could have been close.

---

_{Taken from “Hold Me Closer” by Cornelia Jakobs.}