I used to breathe words from my heart onto a page each day
I inhaled my troubles, translated them and exhaled freely as
they fluttered down into shapes in front of me
It was no pastime or call for attention- it was my stability
and my sanity
My mind would not rest so long as I had not voiced my
thoughts and flexed my mind into creating
It was a calling- a passion that struck me like no other- an
addiction that I couldn’t let go of
My soul is hidden within the bones of my poems and the
marrow of my words, and that is forever
But,
In time, things have changed
No longer am I solely solitary with my thoughts, and rarely
do I dance so sweetly with words as I once did
But that is okay
My mortal crutch and the bearer of my heart’s hardships and
loves is with whom my words reside
It is a burden that I cannot imagine to have to bear, but it
is dismissed as a simple humanly thing to do
I’ve realized that although it takes time to piece lines
together on paper, it is easy compared to having to organize emotions in thin
air
Translation, understanding and much patience is required to
withhold the intensity and ridiculousness of what sometimes may drift into my
mind, but he trudges on and holds my broken pieces together when I’ve shattered
No matter how many ways I may try to say so and no matter
how many times I have, there are no words to truly express my gratitude
To pain an ear with blubbering insecurities and repetitive
uncertainties each day must be exhausting, but he’s not yet grown tired
To be an open book is to be me when I am with him- once something
I could do only with a blank sheet in an empty room
So while I continue to compose on my own, it is no longer the
only thing keeping my feet on the ground
Now when I share my words, it is not just with a bare page
For once I am sharing my thoughts and having thoughts shared
back
Thank you
