A story was once a book, A book was once a chapter
A chapter was once a page, A page was once a paragraph
A paragraph was once a sentence, A sentence was once a phrase
A phrase was once a word, A word was once a letter
And a letter was only just once a mark.
A mark that made a difference,
Made a change largely underestimated
Is there an author to these marks
A plot line to these curves ?
Upcoming words seem so blurry
The next page so unclear
Some chapters I read aloud for others
While some stay coded, shredded, burned.
When a stranger reads a sentence or maybe a chapter
They only see that one sentence
Context is reality, but is not truth
Truth is important, but unreachable
Only you have have truth,
Just as only you have lived and experienced
Each mark, word, and sentence
You know where, when, and how they happened.
Sometimes you're story gets damaged
A coffee spill, exploded pen, or ripped out page
You can't control these damages,
But you can flourish and grow the story through that damage.
Tears in the pages are not definitions
They are not ultimatums, or conclusions
Tears are beautiful, uniqueness
That each story has,
no story should be hidden or shamed.
We all have blemishes and bumps, so quit hiding yours, and quit judging others'.
