This is another undated draft I found in my notebook. It doesn’t have a title, but I know I was fighting a panic attach when I wrote it. I’m going to say it was probably during the first few weeks of this semester when I hadn’t yet readjusted to this place or these people. There’s more to this page than just the poem–there are doodles and single-lines, fragments of scribbles and sketches, some furiously crossed out. Even now, as I look at it, I know exactly how I felt at the time. The title of this post easily doubles as the title for this poem.
It Speaks For Itself
I don’t want to talk.
I just want to sit here.
I couldn’t put my head on your shoulder.
I couldn’t cuddle in your lap.
Maybe I would let you hold my hand,
but I could never reach for you myself.
I need you
but I can’t bring myself
to let go of the bitter shards
that I know you can put back together.