September 24th, 2021
I have written inadvertently to people over the years, using names only I could be content with. The words were never hollow, just too burdensome to hear, too much for me to say to their face. If anything they were overflowing with an over saturated sweetness, and an aftertaste of acid. I was hurting all the time over people in my life, like they controlled the weathering my heart endured. My own witnesses, my readers spread thin, you may recognize a name or two. And one of them is most likely you. You can search far and wide for the name hidden in between lines and underneath deeper meanings, and you can ask and wonder all you want. But you should know yourself, better than I do, at least. You know the hurt you're capable of causing. And you know the pain you're capable of feeling. It's just a matter of what to call it.
R.K.
YOU ARE READING
Holeheart
PoetryI am the forgiver. I am the destroyer. I'm not at fault, but I deserve to be. Poetry and Prose Volume V 2021 DISCONTINUED
