letting go and tying broken ends

listen. don't speak.

sometimes it's nice to just be heard.

when you have a voice that can be absorbed in any crowd like mine,
being heard becomes the oddity in the antique shop

everyone passes by.

my voice is easy to find in sloppy handwriting -
in broken journals,
spines cracked and pages bent -

this book is now the manifestation of everything i can never vocalize.

i am not that great of a singer, but i have such an erratic song playing within me -
it's all the things i never found the courage to say,
all the i love you's, the i hate you's, the i need you's,

the "i've never asked to be in the position i am but i'm so glad i am and i'm even more glad that i'm here with you"s...

listen.

i don't want your pity.
pity is the boat with a hole in the hull.

good thing i've never had a thing for ships -

but i only ask that my words carry weight.
let my words become the anchor,
let them weigh you down,

let them become your gravity
and orbit my very essence

until you're blinded by my light.

understand i want my voice,
my words, my soul -
to be known
before i even walk in the room.

allow me these things and i promise -
stare at my sun, and you'll see.

you'll be blinded to all
my misconceptions
and sorrows, i'd hope -

but you'll finally see my
illuminating potential.

never let it go.