Tenderness

I have written,

raw on the pages,

spilled my guts,

my blind-skewed thoughts,

my reality and dreams;

splashed them verbatim.

If I now look closely,

those chafed words

hide an innocence

between themselves.

I have now shed

that skin and

blended into a gray stone.

That diary is

my time machine.

The pages of my diary

know tenderness

more than I do.

Written for the Alipore Post Poetry Month

Prompt - Tenderness