Paper is light,
But man,
Is ink heavy.

And words
Pooled in ink
Weigh me down,
All one hundred and twenty five
Pounds.

And the paper is light enough
To pull me up,
All the way
To five feet
And one inches.

I am an outline,
Not even the rough draft,
Becoming something greater,
But not quite far enough
To be anything quite worth saving.

My book of life
Has been opened by a few,
And left out in the rain by many.
Pick and choose
Pick and choose
The chapters and quotes and snippets
You want to keep
And leave my pages out
To have the ink bleed out.

But you come along,
And you've come along before,
Helping with a few chapters of this book,
And but suddenly you're here,
And you've come along with smiles
And light
And hope
And I don't doubt any part of you,
And I know your intentions
Are to stay.

I might only be some outlines,
But this ink is heavy on this paper,
And I hope you appreciate
My binding.