My Words

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Photo Credit:magnesina at deviantart.com

My words were borne from us,
from moments you gave me,
from the letters I sent
in hopes you’d read them

and smile.

Those late nights writing
about my days
began this need
to say,
to speak,
to record,
and those letters
grew into this.

These aching poems penned
because you read my letters,
kept them,
held them
when you couldn’t hold me.

I still wonder
what I said,
how my nineteen year old self
sounded,
why you loved her
and her words,
why she stayed with you
so long after she departed,
so long after you lost the sensation
of her hands in yours,
her lips on yours,
her eyes staring into yours.

These words are yours
so how do I reconcile
this self
with the one who’s sitting
in her garage,
pecking away poems
on her phone?
The one who wakes up
to TV sounds,
to coffee,
to work?
She is not this me
yet she is
just as they are also
that nineteen year old
who wrote you letters
that stick in your heart
like cotton candy love notes,
my words echoing
through every date you meet,
every mouth you kiss.

My words have always been yours.

They have given me passion
and obsession
and beauty
beyond measure,
and I’d be lost without them,
as lost as I am without you.

So how do I share them with the world?
How do I show this self
to people who’ve known me forever
but don’t know the depth of my heart?

How can I put my name
on the things that would wreck me
while they rescue me?
How do I write for them
when all I’ve ever done
is write for you?

***

You know how you get these thoughts and you just have to write about them? Well, this was one of those, and it didn’t turn out how I wanted, but here it is anyway. My rambling mind to yours.

~Patience

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