If I can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge,
and if I have a faith that can move mountains,
but do not have love, I am nothing…

Nothing but a drawing on a page
Flat, indifferent, unmoving
Forgetful of my missing dimension

Sketched by some moment, some whim of pride or hurt
My cramped posture is at once familiar and stale
Grotesque in its frozen expression

My mouth will mutter only what is already written
Sound bites borne out of context
Crossing decades to defend my paper-thin skin

I stare out from the page, realizing my predicament
And just as the panic begins to rise
I am startled by a fleshed-out, human touch

Opening my eyes, I blink the nightmare away
And stumble out into the sunlight
Ready to try again

Poem © 2019 Jacqueline Tisthammer. All Rights Reserved

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