Ink Blots

So, this poem was a real fun one to write. I wrote it for a friend who did something so stinking brave, that when I was told- my heart leaped out of my chest and started running. I wanted to capture that bravery, because the first draft of this poem had a really different ending until she changed her mind. And, I kind of think that's how real life kind of is...so yeah.... I am so proud of my friend for doing this. It's not easy to bear one's soul on the page...haha, so yeah...this is dedicated to you Panchonio. :)

I am the hand dense against this page, that's what you make me my friend.
There I dry, condensed on a page, between blue lines is where I lie.
Dragged, I am dragged by you, thin across the page.
I create the pressure on my pen to form the words that speak for me on the page.
All they while the exclaim everything I cannot.

Because you, you are effortless.
Crisp and smooth as a desert sky.
Simple and calm, everything I am not. 

Yet, I can not take and remold this, refold this, create creases in the page to justify what I am feeling now.
Wrong is what I am. Wrong as red pen on a freshly written paper, graded at the digression of a professor, who has absolutely no idea who I am.

Judgment so contingent on an image that I have spread thin.

But, you are not my judge.
You are more like my witness.
You stand to testify and remind me of all that I am.
Reminding me of all the things that make living worthwhile.
You help me dream of far off places...
Yet remind me, that I'm doing alright, where I am.

But the truth is, you are just my friend.
And matter how hard I press pen into paper this page will not stand as law.
Cupids fruitless arrows drawn, fall short of you.
No, I'll never be the exception who is tan and swathed in blonde hair.
And no, you'll never look at me the way you did in August,
Under the starry blanketed sky, as you leaned over me and I wondered why...
I felt this way about you.
And I will always remember the night when we glowed under
the summer skies dancing and screaming with laughter.

It was easy for time to fly by.

Then fall swept in, leeched the green away, and I was left with red and brown.
You went to a far off, but warmer place.
As I clung to words that you had written between the lines.
And I probably licked about a hundred stamps to send you mine.

But it wasn't enough.
Your very presence in ink.
And with every line with words unspoken
 I thought of...
Every push, every shove, every wink gone unnoticed.

It seemed that you were just my
 friend.

Never, had I heard a word so binding.

It slayed me.

It almost caused me to curl up in a ball.

But, I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't be the one to wink or giggle at every one of your silly little riddles.Oh,- I can't possibly be one to caress your arm like you're a trophy...because you're not.

You are the ink blot on my page.
You are flawed.
But you have folded this poem down the middle and the sides.
Gave it wings to fly.

So... I'll let those words leap from my chest.
And heaven forbid you'll let them fall short.
Because you are the ink blot on my page.
And never has a stain seeped so deep.
Never have I breathed so deep,
as when I'm with you.

You, you, are the inkblot on my page.
Permanent and un-erasable. 
Flawed so fine, in between the lines.