Be the Poem.

Paper bites, but I can bleed the truth;
ink stains, but no where nearly so deep
as these scars I've created
criss-crossing the seams of
sarcasm mending with wit
and melting into secrets,
so let me be . . .

[ insert words ]

like the angle you dodged in bright lights
or the breath you forfeit for
less than honorable intentions,
like the shift in the wind that
shakes your foundation when I break
just a little bit more,
or the waiver of your voice when
you try to lie, unconvincing
I'll, someday, be . . .

[ more words ]

the song you sang yourself to sleep by
the night thunder crashed in your eardrums
the rhythm your fingers
absently beat on my skin
when your thought's further away than before
and gaining speed by the second
the smile that left your face numb
for minutes after,
your heart eons . . .

[ those words ]

comprise my soul,
emulate the atoms most beings
necessitate to breathe so not to
draw attention to the fact
I sometimes don't,
the ones that heal the wounds
you never could've seen
the ones that make us real.

[ or feel it, at least. ]