Living Words

I hate sharing my words on pieces of paper As I quill images of my mind, heart and soul Because they’re pieces of me Real pieces of me that I hand to you, One that cannot care less, One that selectively chooses not to see, One that is absent. I write my words because I want to speak out I want to share I want to heal I want to touch I want to grow But in your transparent hands that lack touch My words are lost They are meaningless They are nothing They are dead These words were alive My blood flowed through them They breathed, then They gasped in your hands And they are now dead. My words do not speak.