Lines trail out my veins,
along my skin and down my arms,
razor-sharp across my wrists
pooling, spooling in my hands.
I pluck the line, wrap it gently
into words, swooping them across the page
exposing on paper what my lips
wouldn’t dare whisper to my own heart.
looped to form expressions
of my heartbeat, a wringing
of my soul, laid bare on tree pulp
reviving the pages,
my heartstring coursing along the sheets.
I snip the thread, tie it in a bow,
change the pronouns to she so
no one will know it’s me.