I have whispered my secrets into loves ink…watched them splatter, dance into words for all to read. I kiss the words, still wet, to bring intensity and paint them on my skin with watercolor temerity.
Writers…we sometimes pen about our scars and trail the words through a labyrinth. Leaving clues and riddles wrapped in layers upon layers of thought. Readers get caught up in our journey of words and left wondering how much we allow to be seen into our true souls.
Words spring up daily, grown from memories, events, emotions….like flowers growing within. Nurturing them, bringing the lexical blooms out on display so others can see their beauty, pain and all their affectionate hues. Allowing other fingers to caress them and inhale their oral bouquet.
I push them across paper giving them faces, names and at times….gravestones. With a stroke of my pen I can end their stories and conjure up villains. With the ink still wet, I can press my heart to paper with a kiss to breathe to life heroes and lovers.
I have wrists that roar, fingers that reach, a mind that dreams and a heart that sings……I cannot truly live if I do not allow their stories to be told.
locked within a cage of bones
inside is a treasure
stories still to be told