I'm not sure

I'm not sure about things.

I'm not sure why I'm telling you this.

Maybe it's because you stopped answering my letters when you saw my face again.

I'm not sure if this is poetry or prose.

Maybe it's just what's coming out of my fingertips, unbidden and unfettered.

I'm not sure if I'm up or down.

Maybe it doesn't matter, they both hurt.

I'm not sure if he's not answering me because he's dead on the highway or he just doesn't notice.

Maybe I should try one of the other men who have been clamoring for my attention.

BUT NOBODY SEES ME LIKE HE DOES.

Yes, the ups and downs matter!

I miss your letters!

And I'm only half-forcing these words onto the page. The rest comes from a leaky soul, whose ink leaks through my perfect fingernails, clacking unprofessionally against the wrong letters.

Awake, oh my soul, arise!

He formed you in HIS image to LOVE and BE LOVED!





Awake, O my soul, and bless the Lord.