Do you see me ?

It’s that I can spend hours writing

Its a cry,but The pen feel like my eyes,

And the ink my tears

UnTill everywhere I go,

I feel like I don’t belong.

And I have never belonged anywhere

Except in these pieces of paper

These pages know things about me

That no longer a living soul will

They have heard every word I have swallowed

Every mistake I have made

Each prayer I have prayed

Every feeling that I don’t have courage to name.

Is that who I’m ?

Is that where I’m supposed to be ?

Perhaps I was never good at being understood,

Only at putting the feeling into words.

And what happens when the words run out ?

When the ink dries,

And there is nothing left to write

Will there be anything left for me

Outside these pages?

It’s all I have ?

Is that all I can offer.