Who I am

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9

the ink of my thoughts 
spill softly onto blank paper
a quiet unraveling
as if my mind too full to hold itself
pours out in dark rivers 
across a pale waiting shore
each word is a shadow made solid
a breath given spine and syllable
they stumble at first
unsure if they belong
but the paper listens without judgement
and so they keep coming
a slow confession of everything 
I dared not say aloud
here on this empty space
my silence finds form
my chaos learns its rhythm
and the ink once caged in thought
becomes the shape of who I am
when no one is watching

9 thoughts on “Who I am”

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