If I Let it Work Poem, by gray0328, at My poetic side

The book sits heavy in my hands,

each page whispers, "Keep coming back."

I trace the steps as if they're maps,

directions to a place I've never seen.

My tongue stumbles over strange promises,

each one catching on the jagged edges

of a life I have spent remaking,

breaking, then trying to unbreak again.

There's a courage I don’t recognize—

it waits at the edge of each step.

It hands me words like patience, surrender,

and dares me to say them out loud.

If I lean into what this offers,

I imagine a someday without hiding,

where my hands are steady and empty,

where I can carry myself, finally.

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