I feel you
see right through me
behind my mask of words and bones,
wherein I hide my most intimate thoughts:
the pulse of life
the echo of plot,
stories that I believe need to be told
and stories that I have carried with me
from the beginning.
Her story overlapping the only one I could never tell,
dancing in the void of my mind
it twirls its translucent toes
as I curl mine,
that they all will somehow see
that in the end, I’m not much different from you
and you are not that far from me.
We are all afraid of being known
all I have ever wanted was for you to
Thank you for reading and commenting.
” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”