Wherever These Land | 12.18.20

I know not where these land, though I know where I aim them. I sit or I stand, I spill them out, I pour blood and tears and truth into them, and then I rest them in my hands. I put them to my lips, and I blow, and I send them off like seed, like bird wing in blue gloaming, and I hope they are caught. I hope for them to rest, for them to find eyes that need to read them, ears that need to hear. These are me, all of me, and I give to you all I am, day after day and it’s hope and it’s nothing else. If they’ve wings, I trust they are strong, if they’ve breath, I hope it’s steady.

These are for you, they’ve always been for you, for once they are out of my noisy mess of a mind, they are not mine, no, no longer. I do not write, I said once, I spill, and my god I hope you’re good at cleaning up the mess. Wherever you are, catch these, stitch them to you.

Wherever these land,

these simple words aimed at you,

I hope you catch them.

Haiku on Life by Tyler Knott Gregson


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