There are more than a thousand faults,
that I have made.
Countless.
Though a part of learning,
I wish them not to hurt one soul.
Guilt is a simple pleasure,
that grows in my heart quickly,
how many apologies I have yet to give.
For those that I love,
know that I will always love you.
That the flaws that follow me from the past,
the sick words that I may have spoken,
they've attacked every fiber in me.
As writers,
we all may be so affectionate.
Our words and hearts may flow like an open levee,
It may be a little too much,
and our our expressions keep growing.
We as writers,
do not know our own strength,
the impact a single word can give.
Hurt, an impact. Strength, an impact,
but the faults I have made,
with the words I have written,
an impact.
I never have an intent to hurt those,
that mean the world to me.
My heart learns fast of the problems it beats to,
forgive me for my overwhelming attitude.
We as writers,
our passion lick the wounds.
