Today I sifted through hundreds of poems
Reading each one, letting the words seep into my heart
I breathed in the broken lines of broken souls

I long to tell these weary poets that the light at the end of the tunnel isn't much further
That despite their exhaustion, there is still hope
That the pain is all worth it in the end

So, dear poet, who has happened upon this,
I wish for you to feel peace, or at least I wish for you to feel something
I wish for you to keep fighting
I wish to tell you all of the secrets to finding love

But now I hesitate
Who am I to tell you to be strong
When I am simply quite the opposite
Who am I to tell you to keep walking
When I fell to my knees long ago
Who am I to tell you to leave your pain behind
When I am wallowing in grief
And guilt
And disdain for my own self

Dear poet, I may not know the secrets
Or life's purpose
Or the beauty you bring to the world
But I do understand
And even if I may not know you, or your story, I hold love for you

This love is pure and true and I reserve it in my heart for the day you may need it most
Which is perhaps today
For today
I sifted through hundreds of poems
For an hour or so
I scrolled through your words
And I felt nearly every one