When words are not mine
And I let go of invented ownership,
I am,
Instead,
Merely a steward.
They come more beautifully,
Of their own accord,
Willingly,
Flying through the air
To land on my finger,
For my heart to put them in order
And piece them together.

I may not rhyme
Or make a statement,
But I will breathe these words
Until justice is done,
When my sigh is complete,
And I have represented every feeling,
With genuineness,
And honesty,
On this page,
When I have exhausted the
Integrity
Of my soul
From overuse.