if i were to
sketch out,
sketch out what i need,
i’d have no clue, because
all that i have is
dull logic, and if
you were to ask,
for a pointed reply,
i’d simply shrug off,
shrug off your inquiries
and refer you the scribbles in thick lead
on the hearts i’ve stolen.

is it so bad
that i’ve written my life story in others?
that my identity is stenciled in
incoherent marks?
(is it bad that i’m
the only one
who remembers
that they’re there?)

and while we’re being frank,
i’ll point the finger at myself
for running from questions that
would’ve drawn answers
in sharp clarity –
fine lines to read between
instead of smudged pencil on my fingertips
from trying to draw myself to you.


2 thoughts on “sharpening

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