To the man-woman in the middle

you	You That doesn't get expressed. That isn't always fun. That likes the pretty things enough, but hasn't fallen for them or That doesn't rise for the big breath boxes called clergy/spoken-word artists. You That doesn't always enjoy the same things. That are average, maybe self-righteous, self-neuritic, scared... That passes through sentimental sometimes, passes back not. That goes to work, but doesn't like it. That dreams mediocre mostly. That qualifies your speech, but in your prose puts judgmental nuances that of course no one else will see... To that you I say, Write a poem, sometimes. About why in the middle you are sometimes sad, sometimes happy. About why it's hard to write a poem from the middle because the middle is bland. About how people say "Don't fall for the (wo)man in the middle. Nah, (s)he'll never help you over the edge" or About how people say "Don't fall for the (wo)man in the middle, love. (s)he's not really not all that grounded." About your template of questions, all starting with the normal physicals, what? and where? A poem that's like you; that accomplishes nothing. Bland in your beauty, beauty in your bland With that nagging self-pity hole that's dug of self-disteem humility.
me	I'd like to drop those truth bombs, yo like bebop drummer what's-his-name on the track with the man who was important for being of the not-middle, the extreme, ex-marine, ex-terrain beat drop beats Slam, clash, beat beat unexpected, unbelieved, from temporary to extravaganza eclat! "Catch it? Check it? Did you, did you feel it? wretch it?" Slam it home.   Make it mash.    Flabber gast                The mast... boats...? Sigh..... Is it because I don't believe in God or science or excitement? Is it because I'm too curious, or (flip-side) cowering from myself, a listing powerless? But I doubt that I can... I doubt that I should... I doubt that you want me to phrase it so far...
us	Welcome back to self-pity Tuesday, where lies are truths in mud-stacked water-holes the width of a hug That whisper, Why are you sad in the middle? Is it because everyone else is there?