Blatant.

i struggled while writing you a sonnet;

i. i plucked various guitar strings to attain a melody, but rubber bands
were tightening around my wrists and cutting off circulation to the beds
of my fingernails.

ii. my vocal chords chimed in sync with my heartbeat, but my heartbeat
was out of tune and rigid from the various inflictions i encountered within
the last three years of my life.
my throat became swollen.

iii. impatience attached to the roof of my mouth, and the words that
danced upon my taste-buds refused to climb over my lips. i stared at a
blank notecard for what seemed like hours on end.


maybe i was just too stubborn to love you.
or maybe, i wasn't ready to try.