To be honest
To be honest My poems are far from me. They are strangers. I meet once a year When I revisit my diary Sometimes I forget they are there For years, I forget that we’ve met When they were stuck in my throat They expanded as my chakra bloat Existing only when I found a page for my pen to float. Leading in earth to become whatever they’ll quote. The relief caresses me And my heart thanks me for listening And my head thanks me for doing And my soul thanks me for writing