You speak in metaphors
that don't allow me to comprehend who you really are
but I favor the person I believe you to be
because the poetry you appear to be is more beautiful than most other things.
I took a pen to your skin and inscribed my name on it
and thought it might be inked on your heart,
but you soon washed it away
for the same reasons you never speak rawly.
I only hoped for you to allow me to unlock you and unravel the mystery of your being,
but I've come to realize that you dread anyone knowing,
so much so that you don't know it yourself.
YOU ARE READING
Pondering
PoetryI write because emotion spills out of me. This is a collection of my poems and other writing. "My words are tiny pieces of me, each one specially woven just for you. And I will give, and give, and give, and give, until I am nothing and I become your...
