…because I’d rather be draped I my own ungodliness than somebody else’s.
I have not met you,
But I assure you that your words have been polite.
You have taught them well.
Your words cling to my tongue
They grip me
See, my words no longer heal me.
I can no longer feast upon my words.
My words don’t even greet me.
They hate me.
But I need words.
I need your words.
They have told me all about you,
The storms in your eyes,
Your crooked smile,
Your words are warmer than mine,
Even though you’re more broken than the ocean,
Your words heal me.
But more than anything,
I can tell they’ve been birthed by pain,
And mother by misery,
Yet gentle enough to lie on dandelions.
Your words make me feel like wild fires in love.
You write beautifully.
Let Love In.