write it down.

[camberblue]

She says, well, write it down,
and I feel hypocritical. I just finished
saying how I write everything.
Saying that’s how I find control, saying
it is my survival.

With you it’s different, I can’t, won’t,
embalm it all, yet, in black and white.
It’s living still, sometimes (and sometimes
not at all). Either way, the words won’t stick
they slip through me, they are hiding
and if I ever tell this story
it will be as an old woman,
wise, finally,
and happy with the ending.