i always have had
a wild and a restless mind,
and i write.

i write
because my heart
gets too heavy
to hold, maybe
an instance afresh
or a memory old.

and i don’t know,
if i or my words
touch hearts,
or move souls,
trigger goosebumps
or ignite some bones.

i don’t know
i hope they do.

and if they did,
i hope you’d
write me a note
and tell me so.

’cause i don’t write
to be known
but to find myself
and as i hold on to
every idea,
every concept
crafting a wordly show

i weave them with colons
and punctuations
commas and exclamations
just to sleep my scars,
you know.

cicatrix ~ the scar of a healed wound.