I write you poems you never read.

I paint the page with my heart and the pain you have caused.
I spill each word out over the tops of my lips and cradle them in my hands.
The new life in my palms, wanting to grow, wanting to be a part of something that isn't.
I cradle the newborn words in my hands, in hopes that maybe you'll take them.
Maybe you'll listen.
I cradle my comfort, my anxieties, my thoughts.
The beliefs I once had, the anger I once felt, The anger I still feel.
The love I once felt.
I was numb.
experiencing extreme joy and anger at the same time.
But I cradled those words.
I know you wont see them.
But I wrote you many poems.