She has a bookshelf for a heart,
Each volume a world, a secret part.
A book of shadows, carved from shame,
Another of joy with a thousand names.
Not red, but ink ran through her veins,
A river of stories, of losses, of gains.
She could write you with a careful hand,
Letters and dots you'd understand.
She could write you into her soul,
Bind you within and make you whole.
For every person she's ever met,
Left a line she'll never forget.
Thousands of inky footprints remain,
Etched on the walls of her mind like rain.
So many stories, waiting to start,
But the heaviest ones live deep in her heart.
Those books she kept locked, silent and still,
Closed on the shelf, against her will.
No hands would reach, no eyes would see,
The secret tales of her library.
YOU ARE READING
silent screams
Poetrythe screams of the soul from someone who has suffered loss, pain, and heartbreak. everything we all want to say but never can. for all my wordsmiths, this one is for you. #1 in rhyme #5 in poetry #1 in poetry collection #2 poeticjustice
