Cut Open

Sometimes it feels as if
All I have left inside of me
Is the poem. 
The words that keep my soul
From shriveling, my bones 
From caving in on emptiness. 
Letting out the story,
The emotions of the moment,
It’s what I love and live for. 
But hoarding it within myself,
It’s what I need and how I breathe. 
Poetry flows from my veins,
But only when I’m brave – 
Or perhaps self-destructive – 
Enough to cut my vessel open
And let it go. 

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