Such a nebulous thing
We bury it beneath
The concrete of the more measurable
Like a bird in a cage
Held hostage in time
Bounded by thoughts
That fit into rhyme
Waiting our turn
Behind all the rest
Of things more apparent
To give us permission
To let ourselves be
What matters the most
That thing we call me
That sits on its shelf
Or locked in its cage
Waiting its turn
To let its light burn
So brightly
That at last we can see
What’s special in you
Is always in me.