But You Left
The artist and her soul-searching journey with words.
Of all the unspoken stories, tonight;
This will ring the loudest,
That I had all my words to give you –
Built from scratch, till they grew –
In such painstaking earnest.
I took my time to let the words
Flow in and through my veins.
Till one day, they blossomed and out came tumbling;
Not held back by the littlest stumbling,
Fiery deep; like marks of Cain.
You didn’t know that tonight I dressed,
in my word woven garment.
I fancied that you will pluck them all,
Words that lay stitched and held me in thrall,
The fruit of an artist, ardent.
But you left.
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