Crimes Against Myself
on pure white linen paper
once edged with the deepest
indigo ink, words of purest love.
Did they just pack up
and walk away,
hiding on some obsolete alphabet chart
or in an early speller?
I lost the words
to busy to say them when I could,
I let them fade away,
then lost my ability of expression,
running away from my life.
Or perhaps my words
were convicted and jailed
for crimes against myself.
I am a criminal,
judge me, punish me,
but pardon my words.
I am expressing them to you now;
each and every letter exposed
no longer hiding,
no longer afraid of loving you.
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