There is a part of me
That’s like the period
After a capital K
In response to a lengthy
There is a part of me that chokes when my thumb speaks on my behalf.
I question if I’m needed, or if it’s overkill. I question if I’m petty, or just an outright bitch?
Where there are so many filters
Between what’s meant
And the K. I sent.
There is a part of me that’s scared to see
What you really think I am.
There’s a part of me that longs to be
the person in this pen.
Where the reality of what you see is I won’t just pretend
and give the responses I intend.
Sometimes, silence just makes sense,
and pettiness is present tense.
If it comes from me, this part of me, I don’t see why I should amend.
My flaws can be my friend.
So, K. is all I’ll send.
And the part of me, that is the period, that follows capital K
Is every bit as okay
As the one I will become
All of my pieces
Have made me
A complete sentence
The period is a mark
Of what has been the end
It is an indication
To stop and take a breath
Maybe there’s more to honor
For the parts I think I so wrong
Maybe, all our pauses, the broken notes, and scars,
are everything we’ve needed
To become the one we want
Where the person who is talking
Is the same one hitting send
Maybe it’s just grammar, and I like to punctuate. Maybe I’m overanalyzing, and I really need