Hidden in Paper



is what I call my poetry.

Because it is mountain fold,

valley fold

hidden in paper.

In every dotted i and crossed t

there is a story,

many of which are yet to be discovered.

I pray I am given a chance to discover them.

When I pray

I make sure that my lips move just fast enough

so that my tongue can just barely keep up.

I can never let my tongue get ahead

because it always gets me in trouble somewhere down the line

and I think

it might be working with my heart

because somehow I'm never speaking my mind

and always speaking some emotion.

Every surprised, skipped beat is a gasp

that rolls off my tongue, glides into the atmosphere and fills a room.

Every prodding, peaceless palpitation

is a groan which skips from person to person

setting fire to the air.

Yet every steady beat

is the moment of silence,

tongue held straight,

lips, finally in communion with the rebel parts of me,

​are sealed shut.

Nothing is spoken.

And nothing must be spoken.

My heart murmurs

stories of sweet symphonies sung somewhere in a special place.

My heart cries

calling for compassion in a world of cruel, calculating chaos.

My heart longs

to be free of the chains that this world binds it to. Origami

is what I call myself

because I

am mountain fold

valley fold,

hidden in paper.

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Hidden in Paper