Giving away my words.
Breathing in and out,
I find that I’m at a loss for words.
Words, once, gave me power.
Now they abandon me,
and stop flowing, the way
the sand in an hour-glass empties, the way
the quill runs out of ink.
I try to dip my quill in the ink, only
to get a coat of white out.
My words cower in fear and shrink away.
and my paper remains blank.
That’s what I did.
Or,
maybe what you did.
I and You reached in my voice and threw away my words—
tossed them into the middle of tear stained sentences.
Now,
I’m fishing in the middle of the lake,
hoping words will get caught on my hook,
so, I can drink in my words again.
I’ll find what I lost,
what I gave away.
I’m trying to coax out my words from
Hiding in the dark.
Hiding in the light.
Reassuring myself that I’ll find
what I lost,
what I gave away.
Tracing the shadows in the dark
makes them only shadows.
Reflections of what scares me
but they can’t touch me.
My words are protected,
and they protect me.
Slowly,
I see
Letter
by
Letter
And
Word
by
Word
Forgiving with my words.