Not writer

I’m a little bit dark
And occasionally broken
I am whirled and tossed
And sometimes hopeless.

You must understand all that I am
What I am not is weak;
Vulnerable I am hesitant to be
Though I understand its intimacy.

Eventually I will break in two
I will crumble to dust in your embrace
I may cry and words will come at no use
In this place, in the dark, I will hide my face.

Without words, in a torment of emotion and silence
And gritty cries and thickened voices

I am not writer; I am nothing
I am the silence I once spoke artistically of
I will not know how to restore my state of being
When the current of myself has slackened to stone
I will trust you;
And we will turn to God alone.

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