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