just found an odd bit of faded paper

in my desk drawer (while I was searching for a kneaded eraser, which I did not find)
it seems to be a bit of a pep-talk for writing
as like my garden plants, my writing seems buried and still, tucked down below the surface of cold winter, I thought I might offer these words up to myself, like a heat lamp, see if I can get anything to grow.

someone is waiting
feeling shattered
they need new eyes
for seeing
for healing
for feeling
give
words
that can touch

create

make the
little delicate creature
with wings
bigger
so she can give
strength to
another


(this may seem bold, but at any rate. I am waiting)