By Amy Moffitt
The wall between us
is thick enough to feel.
When I speak, I see the words
bounce off of it and fly away.
If we had met as children,
would the wall still be there?
Or is it the fears we’ve gained in growing
that instinctively push us apart?
I find myself longing for translation…
the gestures I make that put you off,
your tone of voice that shuts me down
decoded, made clear and laid out.
I want to believe that beneath
our troubling layers
our hearts and desires are the same.
We just need an interpreter
to explain us to each other, and ourselves.
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