be gentle with us
please.
or don’t.
it is, after all,
your choice.
but know this
we, the poets,
are not built like the rest.
we are the black rose
among gardens of red
too rare,
too delicate,
too dangerous.
we feel with the whole sky.
we love like the sun
is seconds from setting.
we fall,
not softly
but all at once,
like shattered stars
scattering over wounds.
we live small
but think wide.
in our minds,
we are always flying
between memories
and make-believe,
between hurt
and hope.
don’t be deceived
by calm faces.
we wear masks
stitched from poems
and laughter
but behind them
we are velvet chaos,
quiet storms
with bleeding edges.
we, too,
have danced with devils
and kissed pain
like it was wine.
we return
from places
we cannot name
but we carry the fire
in our chests.
a poet could be anyone
walking beside you
a poet could be everyone
breaking silently
we collect fragments
glances,
murmurs,
empty chairs.
we see beauty
in undone hair,
in chipped teacups,
in rain that ruins plans.
and love
when we love,
we don’t stop at skin.
we fall into souls.
into scars.
into shadows.
and when we’re hurt,
we trust slower.
touch softer.
speak less.
so now you know
this heart,
it does not bruise
it blooms in pain.
this soul,
it does not break
it spills light
through its cracks.
so if you come near
and if you care
then please
be gentle with us.
this poem is inspired by
Lillian May's
be gentle with us
This is my version 1 of this beautiful poem
A Poet