Dear Poems

Dear poems,

I am sorry
that I write you
and then tuck you away.
for not a soul to see
except myself
and very rare
and not often
But I suppose
I have done
the same
to myself.
I tuck myself away with you;
letting you whisper
back to me the truths
of my heart
which I let no one else hear.
This is my story;
in which a blank paper
becomes my best friend
when there is no one else there
when I dare say what I need to say.
You are my foundation,
my rock,
my crutch.
I love you my captive company
but you are just a piece of paper.
A piece of myself
and nothing more.


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