a poem

can hurt or hate, can feel abandon…and reckless

it can joke

and lie

and speak

and whisper all the things you want them to hear

a poem

can have secrets

when the soul is too heavy to carry them

it can live

in the bruised skin on your knuckles

and just beneath the ducts in your eyes

can hold you

feed you

miss your voice as its reading

it can be

a listening friend when everyone else

ignores the screaming