My Poetry Journal

Carried everywhere I go-
Baby blue with silver stars
that catch the light and sparkle-
almost thirty, and I still love glitter.

Inside,
once crisp pages are now
soft from many turnings by
oily fingertips.

Smudged words and
partial prints, from writing
faster than ink could dry.

But also bright blobs
in rainbow colors-mostly blue,
hesitation marks when the words
came like a leaky faucet -drip drip drip.

Held to your ear you
wouldn't hear the ocean but
crack it open and listen closely -
you'll hear the beat of my heart.