My value won't be found in this conversation

It took a year
 —eyes neglecting,
     more silent than silence
     the unsaid 
     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,
     even her,
          and,
                 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
  —biblical narrative,
     callings that change to truth— 
                  of God & the sin of hiding 


I invited him in, 
hoped he'd sit with me,
uncomfortable. 

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.