When I forget how to speak,
I write.
Over and over again.
I spread my heart upon the paper
trying to make some sense out of this mess.

She said.
-Your feelings are misplaced;
we’re just friends,
forget the implications
and the hidden flirtations.

But tonight, I say.
-What I feel is real.
The frustration of all this
has caused me to sink
down to the bottom of my sister’s pond
with the gold fish to stay away from the cold.

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