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slanted (unscripted)
Folder:
Poetry
I go through life unscripted,
Like the verses you recite,
No cameras to record my words,
No rules to say what's right.
Folded up like a yellowed letter,
Or perhaps a budding rose,
In the desert, rooted in the sand,
To open on my time: not for show.
Slanted cursive forming prose,
That only we will read,
Together in our secret home,
Not littered by the weeds,
I may not be so beautiful,
As to catch a random eye,
But blossoming will have to wait,
Until destruction passes by.
Then I'll open up my petals,
Or uncrease my paper dreams,
Not fragile because you've stiffened me,
But still not meant for them.
