The words I cannot shape out loud,

The ache that lingers, thick as cloud,

The love that pulses, soft and bare

Too much to hold and too sharp to share.

So I pour them into rhapsodies,

Each line a thread, a piece of me.

I hope you can hear them? Hopes that rush,

Fears that flicker, dreams that crush

Desire like wings and whims that claim 

All of them bearing my quiet name.

I do not write for claps or crowns,

But for the joy of setting down

The stories swelling in my chest

From not long a life, but one deeply felt.

Come close.

Come hear.

Not just what I’ve seen

The echoes I carry, the truths I’ve gleaned.

I may be young, but still I burn

With all I’ve gathered and all I yearn.