I write and I write
and I write and I write-
but, can you hear me?

Secrets are slipping through
my fingers, landing on the keys beneath,
don't worry, the letters of the alphabet stay put,
but my fingers are sliding
passion clouding my reason,
but I swear--
if you would just listen.

am I showing my soul?
place a world at my feet
and I will roll around in the mud
until I find the gem so full
of color that it drips
from its cracks

cracks like the ones
in my timeline, my story,
that I've created with
mistakes

ones that I've filled with gold.