A box full of poetry,
a case full of whispered
words to a page
that I was too afraid
to speak aloud.

Because I am a coward,
drawing the line of verbal
self-expression where I know
that I am the most vulnerable

Instead, I speak to my pen and let it wipe and twirl
my secrets and heartbreaks
onto an empty piece of paper.

The paper is now tainted,
keeping and holding my thoughts
completely immortal, and somehow
rendering me even more helpless

I cannot control who reads
or who learns of my personal woes
and my selfishly written stories
of events that I couldn't control

So now I will quit the sappy prose
and continue to write things
that will inspire souls to jump,
sing, laugh, dance, and love.