My value won't be found in this conversation
It took a year
more silent than silence
increasingly harming the saying—
before I asked to talk.
My sneaker hidden feet
all I could see
as I walked in
—I considered sexuality
when choosing my shoes,
the choke of managing each detail.
I joined him at the table
with many alongside me
—there was room for all of us,
with her there, I could look in his eyes.
Someday I'll be half as brave
as her at half my age.
Words created pace between us,
stumbling, I spoke of story
callings that change to truth—
of God & the sin of hiding
I invited him in,
hoped he'd sit with me,
As pace slowed to practiced theology,
biblical marriage & warned difficulty.
—never the word celibacy.
He said I wasn’t ready, not to story tell,
then he took notice of my ungroomed nails
—the details I neglect to manage.
I cause trouble at the table,
as the once invisible began it's slow leak
I sit there holding a bag full of cards
this life of measuring has left me with.
each card marked with a symbol
—less than/greater than
I quickly sift through each card
removing what little bit of love I can,
my value won’t be found in this conversation.