If love was like crisp autumn mornings, would you still open a window to let the sun in?
Despite the frost,
I open up like a new journal
to be tampered with until
it becomes something familiar.
Until the feeling of paper
on rough finger tips become
a need–an expectation
to be used purposefully.
Unleash your secrets in me,
even the dark ones that
haunt you on top of damp pillows,
and swollen eyelids.
Let your pain be known,
between lines that stay put
unless soaked in water
to be mercilessly destroyed.
Destruction can be renewing
when you learn to let go.
I love poetry, and write almost everyday. However, I haven’t had an urge to post them. After putting my recent poems together, I realized they were all love letters to myself. Maybe I wasn’t the one who wrote them.
Photo: Pinterest
Seeds Before Water 