They say I bleed on paper too much,
that my words deserve to be lived.

“I love you, I love you,”
I whisper to the wind.

One Wednesday, intoxicated on courage
I finally laid my poetry before him.
.
“This is my everything –
please handle them with care.”
.
I was sinking and barely breathing,
my heart turning into quick sand.
.
Then, he broke our silence –
“What took you so long?”

 

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