Chisel

Do not read this

I am not ready to share

The beauty of these words

Of every hidden scar

Not a warrior yet

Take every line from this only battlefield

Not done grieving yet

If there was a lesson here it’d be in ink

And you. All of you would be embers

Your hateful words ashes.

Not ready to say it didn’t lay claim.

And how do you do it? Did it just roll off like sweat from your skin?

Clinging to me. If it wasn’t perfect.

The crumbled dust of character building.

Too much chisel makes a ruin of art.

The professor said what happened didn’t enhance anything. If anything, it made it less of who we were meant to be. We were who we were before the storm. Before it hit the fan. Don’t believe him.