if eyes are our spirit’s windowpane

what is writing?
so exposing
so revealing & confessional
an endless endeavor
to translate the mind
thrusting it on paper
like a naked awakening
in a crowded conference
where you are the gallery’s new display
each scratch & scar
every single imperfection
observable by all
surrounding eyes

well,
here I am
so look
(at me)

I can’t deny my mind
these toiling brain cells
produced these words
factory-assembled
each blank document
a blanket of crisp snow
a mirror for my nudity
my vulnerabilities
an opportunity
a chance to explore
each other
& all our
tender times

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