I walk these roads as
if I had known that
letter boxes are more like
an ice-box for transplant hearts-
you must move quickly or else
time tames the rest.
Words were like the map of veins drawn
on the back of my hands; I
thought that maybe if I
keep on walking
my heartbeat like a siren beating very fast
could guide me home.
And I am home.
I started writing here two years ago today and I could've never known the journey it would become. I am grateful to the countless people I met on this site- telling me stories about the life they've had and being my family on the rainiest of days.
I love you all.
To the people who inspire me and encourage me to be the hopeless poet that I am.
Kace, TL Sipple <3, Samuel Francois, Traveler Tim, Ed Coles, David, Daniel Lockerbie, Timothy, Paul Anthony Hutchinson, Majd Shidiac, Bala, St64 and others who read, like, heart, and repost my work like they were philosophies. And I am glad that I can make people find themselves in my work as I find myself in them.
What am I but a bottle of ink had you not been the paper I write on?