The Big Top

My broken shoulder
maybe it’s hard enough
holding onto the weight
of ever having loved you.
Did you ever think
it was ever possible
I’d trip,
coming up with all this?
The things we say in poems
are so easy to dismiss.
There are pretty answers
I can’t always predict
handsome things come from you, always,
especially when
you’re hidden behind a wall.
I dare not push
for answers I don’t want feel
so I wait
for the look
on your face
to turn a different shade.
I love you when
you’re asking for a hand in yours.
The perpetual distressed damsel
not wanting to be counted out.
I swear you swore back then,
promising if I held tight to your hand,
you’d be forever be mine
I’m pretty sure you assured me then
you’d never let go
as you’ve clearly done.

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