I am not a poet

I am not a poet. I am not so skilled with the mastery of words where I can link a phrase or two to the ends of an arrow whose coordinates are aimed at the time you may have caught a flash of yourself in the mirror, looked at all the cracked pieces lying around you, and offer a bit of strength needed to piece them together again. No, I am not a poet. I do not do well with the machinery suited best to drain the flood out of your lungs or understand just how to craft a b and c to form a pretty life jacket that lifts you out of the waves of your despair to the point that you can no longer bare to keep them in its spinal cage and are compelled to tape them to the walls of your imagination. Honestly, I have no idea how to do it. But I’ll tell you what I can do. I can write you a story with the hope that maybe it works as just well.