where the writers are
Within These Lines
my time

Within these lines


These etchings upon my skin


Lives a record of me

A testimony

Of who I am


Finite channels


Sacred seams




The births

The hurts

The conversations

And the worries


By the lines 

Beside my eyes


Within the creases of my smile


Lives my life

My story


My worth


I dont need a book 

to tell you

Where I've been

Its written

Within my skin


They help me to remember


The roads I have traveled


Breathe in every minute outline


Upon my face



of my childhoods


The moments I've tucked away


They tell me of my mistakes

The beds I have made


Symbolize my triumphs

Sing my heartaches


These traces 


Of who I came to be






too boisterously


But they take me back to moments

I'd rather not forget


The passages 

of my time well spent


My faith

My anger

My lovers

My dreams

My chase




In the folds

Of my softened skin


I tried to hide my 



I call them my echos of existence 


Cowered to those

Too scared of growing wise


I patted and applied

Fancy names to deny


My life and my time


I spent years crying

At the sight of my trials


Only to let go


And smile at the memories

I found 


Its not the imprints 

upon my face


That make me feel my fate on this plane


Its the narrative of my being

I once refused to claim


I look at this painting 


upon my skin

And wonder where I have been

Only to see the times I spent

Living them


Not always bad

Never with regret

Touching happiness

Now and again


These softened edges 

Talk to me

Reciting all my journeys


They are my storytellers

Announcing that I have lived 


These lines are my echos


My narrative of life

Well spent