Beautiful, But Not Quite

I can see from where I stand,
that your lips crave to speak the words,
that you've been holding back for so long.
Yearning to be heard,
Searching for ears to listen,
The towel has been thrown in on your hope.
A little to soon, I think.
My hands are just as cracked as yours,
But I promise they're still quick to serve. . .
That hope deserves to live in you,
Not thrown away, made impossible.
You're more than that and you know it.
It's funny how this poetry,
(meant to be poetry, at least)
turns out to be a blunt flow of emotion,
that will lead to no real change.
It's almost beautiful,
but not quite.