these words will be invisible to you
the ink clear
the paper thin
a slice of air on which i will drag
my mesmerized fingers across
in pretty cursive letters
these words will be illegible to your following eyes
because even when you aren’t around
i still fear you will catch me
and expose me for who i am
a ghostwriter
a phantom
a thread of presence that you don’t know is around
yet i can’t help but pen your epics
to make you the hero in every story
to make you the resolution
you are the beginning and end of every notebook
and i am running out of room
my fondness and deep-rooted emotions
screaming but you are oblivious
as rarely does the viewer thank the writer
before applauding the faces on the screen
you do not see me as the composer of the music
unlike what my wishful mind has spun
you see me as the moral support for when
other melodies bore you
a ghostwriter
you will never know how i feel
and i will never tell you.
yet i will illustrate tapestries
in the castles of my poetry
where your face will smile broad
you will be the theme of my prose,
and the way i feel about you will rip
the reader to shreds with resonating metaphors
i will make them feel my loss
but i am a ghostwriter
my name never known
and my work paraded as someone else’s
but the works i write for you
will never reach further than my
silent
whispering lips
