A story was once a book, A book was once a chapter

A chapter was once a page, A page was once a paragraph

A paragraph was once a sentence, A sentence was once a phrase

A phrase was once a word, A word was once a letter

And a letter was only just once a mark.

A mark that made a difference,

Made a change largely underestimated

Is there an author to these marks

A plot line to these curves ?

Upcoming words seem so blurry

The next page so unclear

Some chapters I read aloud for others

While some stay coded, shredded, burned.

When a stranger reads a sentence or maybe a chapter

They only see that one sentence

Context is reality, but is not truth

Truth is important, but unreachable

Only you have have truth,

Just as only you have lived and experienced

Each mark, word, and sentence

You know where, when, and how they happened.

Sometimes you're story gets damaged

A coffee spill, exploded pen, or ripped out page

You can't control these damages,

But you can flourish and grow the story through that damage.

Tears in the pages are not definitions

They are not ultimatums, or conclusions

Tears are beautiful, uniqueness

That each story has,

no story should be hidden or shamed.

We all have blemishes and bumps, so quit hiding yours, and quit judging others'.