Scribbles & Marks

I am the scribbles and marks
in the margins of your memoir;
random ink, red, black, indigo
and smudged graphite, gray.
I am a midnight afterthought
but one worth writing,
framing the factory print,
the mundane and ordinary,
rows of the same small letters.
I am your thoughts never lost,
the imperfect prose a passerby’s
finger finds, curious eyes see.
I am an out-of-place footnote
that clarifies your biography.
I am part of you, your life story,
scribbled words though I’ll be.

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