My
first
love was
too much for
me to hold in my
hands so I used my empty heart

When I was fourteen I learned to write
I learned to pour out my sorrow onto the pages
of an old notebook

When I was fourteen I learned to write for myself
Without stupid prompts
asking me what I was proud of

When I was fourteen I learned to write the truth
Never again did a meaningless sentence spill out of my pen
saying things that were opposite of what I felt

When I was fourteen I learned to write for everyone else
I said to those silent pages what I could not say to their faces
for fear of losing everything

When I was fourteen, I learned to write

I read somewhere that we may see different colors
but call them  by the same name.
I hope that this isn't true
because to think that we do not gaze at the same dark sky
or dream of the same clear oceans
or tremble with awe at the same ancient masterpieces
is a scary thing