I’d be silly to not acknowledge,
That a many believe I write with dramatic flair.
That I’ve not genuinely felt these darks.
That I embellish, or I wasn’t actually there.
Like it’s a tangible place.
I try to use words to paint my feelings,
Like when you trace.
Just a thin piece of paper,
Over an image that you love.
Find a bright light set high.
But in truth just a few feet above.
The light lets the page,
Show the darkest lines.
With pencil and eraser.
You trace and make it shine.
An etching of your making.
While yours it’s also shared.
Though not completely yours.
You can admire knowing you were there.
My feelings are far from unique.
Not unique to heartless known.
So I offer my simple words,
Hoping another won’t feel so alone.