There are words I drown in a lake
until they fall to the depths
of whatever lies in my mind’s willows.
Rather than speaking them,
I yell my confessions with pencil lead,
leaping between lily pads
with silent footsteps,
but I fall through chilling water,
when you ask a question,
and I slam the cover to the other.
So I attempt small talk, and
you can’t hear past
the laughter that surrounds us,
and you join them.
You don’t grimace at the tension,
or leave us in an awkward silence,
you laugh with them, you ease the moment,
because it’s who you are.
And I am the sonnets of praise I drown
the regards I never give.