I take pen to paper
fingers to computer keys
walk through your world
and observe like a tourist
at an unknown destination
collecting trinkets for my scrapbook
take record of the beautiful
the horrendously ugly
the in between
the small things that matter
the elephant in the room
the things you hope no one saw
the moments you don’t want to forget
tie them together with a pretty pink bow
I feel these words so deep
my voice shakes when I read them aloud
this is what I endure
this is what I observe
this is my gift to you
my poetry
a fraction of my heart
a slice of anger
a sprinkling of pain
I’m no artist
I’m just a poet
painting words
into
existence