will I ever be seen
or is my invisibility my invincibility
I have always existed in between
I belonged to me
I cannot tell if I am writing the world
or the world is writing me
maybe I am the world
and the world writes we
how is it that printed pages can make
me a willing puppet of feelings
how is it that empty pages willingly accept
my guts spilling and incurable poetry
I guess paper really is magic
forever changed
forever changing
strength comes and goes
power bursts and vanishes
courage sometimes
take the form of retreat
I am hiding in the open
beautifully jaded, gloriously broken
all these words are my fears
and my fameless fortune
running from what
toward what
everything, nothing, anything
KS
