ThisIsMyLetterToTheWorld

She's hidden, cowering in the corner,

as she waits, mouth open,

words frozen on her lips.

She does not speak.

I mold my sadness into poetry and she watches me,

amber eyes taking in everything and nothing.

Gym class. Sweaty, hormonal teenage boys running around attempting to showcase their masculinity and physical prowess to the girls, as if they cared.

When the world is at its darkest days,

Turn the light on.

When someone is lost,

Find them

Hold them

And assure them

I despise annotating in my books and in my notes

It takes away from the beauty of the page

It's confusing and maiming and hurts the book

And it hurts me deeply

Too many shapes and writings to follow