Ripped

There you stand in the bleachers,
screaming your guts and chanting those silence
that I still hear and pick words to write this poem.
Is it really a poem?
If it is, is it one for you?
Will I tell you how much I didn't want to loose?
Whether you or to someone else?
I have but showed you all I am,
you have seen the better bad part of me
dancing naked feelings on the stage of emotions
raising the dust from your early morning glory.
I scouted the negligible iota of truth to unmask
said the shameless stories of dreaming at day by night
with you on a high pitched note of this center.
The very one that defines what I am
who you are.
Why did you have to pick it up like a ball and leave?
I mean, my heart?