Abandoned, incomplete works of emotion 

litter these several spiral-bound books. 

Unfinished letters to people 

I hate and love with all my heart. 

The words lie on the paper, 

undisturbed and untouched 

by the eyes of both their writer 

and those for whom they were meant. 

 

The words I could never say, 

but they were so easy to scribble. 

Pages and pages 

of pure vulnerability, 

run-on sentences until I trembled 

too much to continue, 

 

abruptly stopping.