The book you got me

The book you got me for my birthday;

Clandestine thoughts run through its pages.

Strange, I could be reading too much into it,

Making something out of nothing;

But the hug you gave as we said goodbye made me think differently.

Clementine, I'll call you that here.

We all know the different names our faces wear.

The masks that cover our true intentions

Always the thing we accept as normal.

I want to see behind the masks!

But there's always the catch, the hitching breath and the final heave;

The tears that run concrete cracks down my jaw

Must be open and raw.

Writing it down doesn't count,

At least that's what the world reminds me

Because the truest vulnerability must be spoken aloud

Clear and open for everyone to see.

Maybe it is angry,

Maybe it is hurting;

This is what they have refused to see.

So when confronted with these words,

This sign

Is it so bad that I look deeper,

And want to help heal the way the world has made you feel?

Clementine, I'm sorry.

I don't know if you can hear me here

There is so much I hope you know right now

You deserve to be free and loved, always.

And if that means bookmarking,

The unspoken words you that author spoke for you

Then I'll try to understand them;

I'm tired, too.