poetry

I come to you…

I am not a writer

When I come to you

I come to you

as me

As the words that

don’t spill on paper

They leave my throat

But stop at my lips

I come to you as words

That stop short of seeing the light

I come to you as words

That don’t escape my lips

But scream through my eyes

And I come to you in between

moments when I shut them

So you don’t read them more

Than you should

So they run down

And peek out of the breasts

Asking for attention

you take note

And I shove you away

Not letting my words carry

your handwriting

I come to you

Just words that churn

To disguise as butterflies in my stomach

And escape

I am the warmth between my legs

That wrap your head

When you are away

I am the words that rush back

To the brain

And explode

Into stardust

And dazzle you

I leave you

as a melancholic poem

that I made out of the words

I never told you out loud.

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