An Open Letter to Myself


My darling, you are so beautiful.
The word for your flawlesness has not yet been invented 
your beauty spills lawlessly 
When you laugh the larks do not follow in song but simply sit in stupor
When you speak it is like a symphony 
They say that the most emotional instrument is the violin
but I think,
no, I know
It is your voice. 
Your words fit into the empty spaces in the dictionary, 
flowing like cool, refreshing water between hot cement cracks. 
Your sizzling tongue sends forth promises of tantalizing terminus,
lifting anyone on the other end into promised exodus. 
So why, I ask, are you blind to yourself? 
I mean, I know you wear glasses, but a blurry elephant is still
larger than life. 
You look in the mirror and see nothing but flaws.
When you laugh and hear silence, in absense of cacophany
you hear being ignored.
To you the symphony of your words is out of tune. 
But I say,the world needs to shift keys. 
For when you speak, the song whispers
I am here!
I am here!
I am still here!
And I am flawless. 
and in the cemented cracks between the larksong of self-confidence
you can feel that essense that murmurs:
My darling, you are so beautiful.
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