You say it's nothing.
A little piece of nondescript white paper
slightly torn around the edges
slightly stained from food and drink
slightly discolored from too many handlings
But it's not nothing.
Translating thoughts into words, feelings into rhyme, dreams into verse
is a dance between the perceived and the real
and the closest any human being can get
to putting his soul into a tangible form
able to be handled and judged by others
a delicate piece of glass that can be held up to the light
so people can see the colors it throws forth.
So when I hand you my papers
and watch you intently while you read
please be kind
because I am so scared
I have given you all that I am
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