i am filled with words and they are

not for you.

(do not hold them close.

please don’t. 

they are not for you.)

but

i hope you recognize your laughter

in the curve of the type and

your cadences in the space between stanzas.

the exclamations, your sincerity,

the questions, kindness.

(all of these words,

they are made of you.)

you are all of the allusions,

the winding metaphors,

the seascape imagery,

and the confessions they proclaim.

words are spilling out of my fingers,

not in dedication,

but from necessity.

(do not hold them close.

don’t keep them in your pockets,

don’t wrap your fingers around them,

do not search for warmth in their

secret meaning.

please don’t.

they are not for you.)

this is for me.

 ---

this is the only work/job/life i know. or, at the very least, the only one i wish to write about.
x

<3C