She picks me up like a secret ,
She takes care of me cause I hold her voice,
She speaks through ink and silence
She expresses her pain through my lense.
She draws with breathless wonder ,
She sketches things she can’t say,
She is ariel finding her Flounder ,
That is me, the thoughts she thinks; on paper I lay.
She writes abolit other’s whisper’s ,
She tries to convince her self that these people are shades of silver and gold,
She keeps me forever and always,
ill be on that folded thrown away paper Hoping to be fearlessly bold.
She hides in rolls and letters,
She bleeds in blue and black ,
She covers ugly things to look flattered,
She hopes for someone to pour cement in the cracks.
She is more than a writter,
She is chaos wrapped in grace,
She is poems never spoken,
She is stories I long to trace.
Neoma Kava
