The blank paper staring at me
is asking me to let it out
this paper has been
a generous friend
the only generous friend
more so in my anxious and jumpy days
it never gets tired of the rant
the rant that mostly consists of past
of people who meant the world to me
at some point in time
but are no longer around
the rant where I curse myself
for letting these people in
and showing them the closets
and crevices of my heart
the rant in which I am restless
that these people are still out there
with all my secrets
where I regret sharing
everything that should have
belonged only to me
the rant where I am disappointed in me
for falling in the trap
not once but twice
for falling for the facade
for falling for something that
was never real
the rant that laments about
choosing them and their facade
over my own being
I keep on pouring
and this paper, my most generous friend
keeps on soaking it all in
