If I could transform the hatred in my heart for what you do into chisel strikes, with each flake of stone representing the love for you I hold onto when you treat me like this, then maybe the sculpture could represent my compassion for you.
If my pride could be the hammer of nails onto a chalk board, slamming my shames into the wall behind it, then maybe the dust that mixed with the plaster and slate at the bottom of the wall, could be my humbled tears…for you.
If the leaping that I’ve done into the pit of misery isn’t enough, can I at least now give you what I know, in the interest of the ledge being something you begin to acknowledge with hope?
I’ve waited all my life, anticipated tomorrow as a plan to do the same, and see in this moment, my purpose in the satisfaction of loving you.
If I can take all my anger and turn it into a match, lighting my frustrations up with the air of my fears, stoking the fire of me with the kindling that is our reason for caring at all, maybe then I can build the wall I need, to be who I am without worrying what you think.
If you could see that the wall built with the rocks of me saying no, is my best attempt at protecting your potential to shine, then maybe we could be together again.