Problem

The problem with you 

is you're entirely to close 

for me to make any sort of 

life-altering choice. 

Because the outcomes 

no longer remain with just me, 

but they seep into your story too, 

and there's no undoing that. 

The problem with you 

is that you're terribly too smart

for your own damn good 

and you know it. 

You can understand me 

like others simply can't, 

and I can't decide 

if I hate you or love you for it. 

The problem with me, 

is that I'm entirely to afraid 

of ruining everything I love

because of my own foolish heart. 

The problem with me, 

is that I'm entirely too close 

to you to be objective

and there's no undoing that. 

Held Up

He's held up 

by what seems to be

his own thoughts. 

Racing and whirring, 

like the wind 

over the flat fields. 

He has choices

but none of them are easy 

either way, things will change. 

She's held up

by what seems to be 

her own fears. 

Rushing and stirring 

her poor little heart, 

like rain on young flowers. 

She has a voice, 

but holds silence, 

because speaking up never worked before. 

They sit side by each 

and say nice things, 

yet all the while 

the things they want to say 

go again, unsaid. 

They're held up.