The Water, The Air

You never leave me

even when everyone else walks out

and stabs me in the back

and lets me down

over and over

again.

 

You never leave me

You are there

even if I don’t acknowledge you,

You sit there and You

Wait.

Patient.

Attentive.

And I can come to You any time

to expose my feelings

or cry

or ramble about nothing

or everything.

 

And You are mine

Always mine

You are something I can call my

Own

You know my secrets and

You never judge

Me

You never interrupt

Me

You don’t ask for explanations

or argue or dismiss

how I feel.

 

You just let me stamp my

ink blotted mess into

your canvas no matter how

loud or dark those colors

may be and You let me scream

and cuss and whine and complain

and You let me be creative without

Boundaries or

Constrictions.

 

You let me

be me

and I need and want You

but without the withdrawal,

without the ticks and fidgets

of addiction.

 

You are healthy

You cleanse and purify

and renew my soul

You are real and authentic

and You never let me lie,

not for long

at least.

 

You are strong

with a back lifting

every ounce and pound

and ton of guilt

and shame and desperation

and depression and dehydration

and erosion and elation

that has ever blessed or

tortured me.

 

You are magic.

 

You are writing.

 

You are the friction between

the inked point and the parchment

You are the smashed pulp

that catches tears

and holds smiles

You are friend, family,

the shoulder to lean

or cry on.

 

You are writing.

 

My only solace.

My only drug.

My everything.

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