you
a fragment of lead fallen from pencil tip
but you
you are defined, granite
you stray away from said perfected pencil tip
your rigid, cracked ends are what structure beautifully imperfect lines
words slip from underneath your rough edges,
inscriptions that stick to the mind like that of needle to skin,
but said words do not hurt, do not burn like that of the sharp, intimidating tip of the knife,
no,
these words fill up the empty, needy lines of the paper,
they replace pain with beauty,
they are what spell out the name with crooked, faded letters
