A/N: It's been awhile since I've put my work up for review; honestly I don't know what to think of my poetry anymore...To me it feels like a bunch of different images sloppily strung together without much structure. What are your thoughts?
My breath has been snatched by the nerves that buzz within me.
I talk too much or I talk too little—but I never talk to him.
Only an hour waits, standing on a ledge, ready to leap . . .
And once the sand trickles to the bottom,
I know I cannot turn the glass upside down to start again.
And in that moment I realize I have to do something
Or he will be out of my fingertips and back into the world.
But instead of putting one foot forward I rest it there.
Knuckles crack and hair falls in front of my face.
I bite my lip and try to meet his eyes.
But they do not meet mine.
And then he is gone.
My heart falls into an abyss I cannot bring it out of.
Sweat begins to emulate the moisture that meets
the lids of my eyes.
I know I have just eradicated something
I have never had before.
Frustration settles in my mind, and all I can think about
is not the ceremony of gowns and certificates
or the flashing of cameras
and the eruption of “CONGRATULATIONS.”
Why should I be congratulated?
My fears have won.
His face begins to fade in and out of focus.
My window has been slammed shut and the air turns cold.
My door has been locked and I am back to square one.
And under my breath I vow to grab tightly to the ropes next time
instead of letting them go for fear of falling.