How should I say the words
That bring either joy or sorrow?
What can I say
To win your heart?
Why do the inky spirits
That I can trap on paper
Dance so lightly out of my mind,
Yet cannot find their way off my leaden tongue?

Why does my poetry die
When I wish to speak it?
Why do my words flee
When I need them most?
The words that flex like a tiger’s muscles,
Crack like a ringleader’s whip,
Burn like fire, or dance through the air
Like the juggled balls of a clown
Suddenly lose themselves within the watching crowd.
The fluid, or steadfast, or floating words disappear,
And leave me hanging from the acrobats’ ropes.

I cannot even say those three,
The three most absent words
That weigh most heavily on my heart.
As this most honest poem, so full of lies,
Gives you my soul, trapped within this ink
I carry those three words
Trapped within my voice.