Your Language (day 165)

I love your language even when it hates me.


The one that crawls over sticky notes in the kitchen on your busy early mornings,

the one I can read even when I’m blind,

the one you will engrave on my stone when I’m gone.


I love your language even when I can’t escape its claws.


The one that breaks like a dam when I collect your tears,

the one that finds me curled underneath the stairs no matter where I hide,

the one you use to tell every truth and every lie.


I love your language even when it sticks to me for too long.


The one that questions everything for better or for worse,

the one that hopes like no one else knows what hope is,

the one that takes too many deep breaths a day.


I love your language like I love my lungs.


The one that tells everyone to travel- have a suitcase heart,

the one that doesn’t always smile but when it does I could cry,

the one that dances like a poet through every word you say.


I love your language more

when it loves me.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 1/8/17


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