Readers are the strangers
To whom we bare our souls
Masked arbiters of our fate
To whom we ascribe power unearned
We proffer to those we have never met
A piece of our molten core
A sliver of our very being
Flung to the capricious winds
Alighting; naked, vulnerable
On the precipice of yearning
Hoping someone discovers them
Anxiously hoping to be pulled from the ledge
Of want, desire for acceptance
Fearful of rejection, scorn, ridicule
Awaiting anonymous perusal
We long to hear praise
We agonize over every response
Praying someone will respond kindly
Or even respond at all
Will you?
About the Creator
Andrew C McDonald
Andrew McDonald was a 911 dispatcher for 30 yrs with a B.S. in Math (1985). He served as an Army officer 1985 to 1992, honorably exiting a captain.
Never mind. I give up.
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