Reverence for words.

I write,

More than I speak.

I carry my words

In feathers.

They’re silver lined

Like the moon.

I touch them with a

Light hand.

Fearing they might shatter too;

(My framework alike)

My idioms,

Are vague, unclear and appalling.


Delicate and clumsy.

I sit retaining,

Each term of mine

Back to life.

It would be wrong of me,

To slaughter the one’s

I’m hesitant of.

The courtesy,

And admiration (my) words deserve.

With all my heart and pain

I offer reverence,

To all (my) words;

Intense or plain.


Poetess, 16, Too talented to operate in the right way.

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