I know not where these land, though I know where I aim them. I sit or I stand, I spill them out, I pour blood and tears and truth into them, and then I rest them in my hands. I put them to my lips, and I blow, and I send them off like seed, like bird wing in blue gloaming, and I hope they are caught. I hope for them to rest, for them to find eyes that need to read them, ears that need to hear. These are me, all of me, and I give to you all I am, day after day and it’s hope and it’s nothing else. If they’ve wings, I trust they are strong, if they’ve breath, I hope it’s steady.
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